


Burning Star

by fleurharry



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: 1940s, AU, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-10-26
Updated: 2017-05-16
Packaged: 2018-08-27 04:32:50
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 29,618
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8387308
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fleurharry/pseuds/fleurharry
Summary: A quest for happiness brought Louis Tomlinson, a young, uncultured New Yorker, to the sparkling world of 1940's Hollywood. Louis' career grew from being in the right place at the right time with a charming wit and a handsome face. He became a mogul that was a force to be reckon with. Nothing could touch him, nothing could get to him, nothing but the young actor he met at the beginning that would have an everlasting hold on his heart.





	1. Chapter 1

Louis wanted a happy life. He looked to his parents, they were pretty happy. Sure, it wasn’t perfect. There were disagreements, bad days. There was that time Louis’ mother threw a coke bottle at his fathers head which led to him running out into the street, in nothing but his underpants, at midnight, yelling, “You know, for a woman that drags me to church every goddamn Sunday, you’re a real evil bitch!” 1939 was just a bad year. Yes, that bummer of a day stands out, but it’s unfair really. Because if you play back a consolidated reel of Louis’ everydays spent with his parents, there were countless laughs, countless kisses, and countless evenings with his father falling asleep on the floor with his head in Louis’ mothers lap as she sat in her chair, her nails tickling his scalp as she ran her fingers through his hair. They managed fine during the Depression, his father kept his job at the restaurant, though there was a pay cut, and they didn’t have to move to Brooklyn and live in a one bedroom dump like Henry Trent’s family. Louis was certain that his mother was receiving money from his aunt who lived out in California. Aunt Clarissa was wealthy beyond imaginable. Louis surmised that his father didn’t know about the money or question how their life at home was unaffected by the loss in income. Bless his heart, he was terribly oblivious.

They weren’t exciting folk, but by no means were they monotonous. They lead a simple life and Louis truly believed they were happy. It must be love, Louis thought. It’s love and it’s marriage— that’s happiness. 

So he thought about it. Love. He’d never been in love. Granted, he wasn’t the best catch. He’d buy them dinner and drinks, he’d drive them around and take them to movies. He just struggled with feigning interest. He wouldn’t let them in on that, but he never asked the same girl out twice. He just hadn’t met the right one, he supposed. But he was a romantic, he knew he couldn’t artificially facilitate courtship. His mother was friends with a matchmaker, but he thought that took the fun out of it. The stars aligning and all that. He wanted to know his love was a figment of something bigger than him, the universe. He accepted that he couldn’t decide when to meet his true love, but he could try other means of happiness for the time being. He thought good and hard about what in his life he could change and what was in his control. That’s when he decided he would move to Hollywood.

 

* * *

 He told his family over dinner and left everyone in a quandary.

“What the hell are you gonna do in California?” His father asked.

“I’ll go see Clarissa and see if she has any jobs.”

“I don’t know if this is such a good idea,” his mother said. 

“You know California is nothing like New York,” Charlotte said.

“Thank you, truly. I had no clue,” he said, shoveling more potatoes onto his plate.

“Hey, you didn’t call Clarissa did you?” His father asked.

“No.”

“Good. Costs a fortune,” his father grumbled, before taking a bite of his dinner.

“Louis, sweetheart, you’ve never stepped one foot out of New York. What the hell makes you think that moving to California is a good idea?” His mother asked.

“There’s a first for everything, Ma. I think it’ll be good for me. You know, going out and seeing what else is out there,” he said.

“There’s nothing wrong with staying in New York. You’re a very lucky kid, you know that? I’ve never been to California and I turned out just fine,” his father said.

“Pop, I’m not saying— That’s not what I meant,” Louis said.

“Listen to me, honey. Don’t tell Fred anything about this yet. I know this is what you think you want, but just take a few weeks to think about it,” his mother said.

“I don’t think it’s what I want, it _is_ what I want. And I told Fred that too.”

His mother, melodramatic as ever, actually dropped her silverware.

“You did what?” Her voice was controlled, but he could feel the palpable anger that was radiating from her pores. And, fuck if he was 22, it scared the shit out of him. 

“You’re a moron,” Felicite said, with a dumbfounded look on her face. “You’re actually a moron.”

“Ah, Lou, what’d you do that for?” His father said, sitting back in his seat rubbing his napkin across his forehead. 

“This is a very stupid thing you’re doing. Very stupid. I didn’t expect something like this from you, go and quit your job on a whim like that,” his mother said.

“It’s not on a whim, Ma. I’ve thought this over. This is what I want. I’m sorry. You know I don’t want to make you upset, but I want this.”

“This is a whim, Louis. This is completely spontaneous and completely irresponsible. And I am upset. I’m very upset.”

“Ma, come on. You know me, you know I’d never make a rash decision like this. I’ve thought about it. I really don’t think it’s such a bad idea.” His mother could only shake her head and close her eyes. 

“Lou, what the hell are you gonna do if this ends up being a doozy, huh?” His father asked.

“I’ll get on a plane and come back. Fred would hire me back. I’m assuming I have a home where I’d be welcome.”

“Don’t be so sure,” Felicite said.

“So what, you’re just gonna go mooch off your mother’s sister?” Louis’ father asked.

“No, Pop, I’m gonna see if she has a job at her office.”

“Hey well look, you don’t go there with your hand out begging for money like an asshole, all right? I raised you better than that, you work for your income,” his father said, before taking another bite of food. His mother looked at his father with a real look of displeasure. His father met her look and widened his eyes, “What?”

She shook her head and looked back to Louis.

“How long’ll you be gone for, Lou? Is this it? Are you ever coming back or am I never going to see you again?”

“Ma, Jesus Christ. It’s not like i’m going to China.”

“Don’t use the Lord’s name in vain,” she said, shooing away his words.

“Ma,” he said seriously, putting down his fork and knife. “Ma, look at me.”

She met his eyes. 

“I’m coming back.”

 

* * *

 He left on a Saturday. He saw his city from miles above and the feeling in his chest was so strong he thought he might cry. It seemed small from above, so easy to grasp. It was just a place and he was only going to another place. He stepped off the plane at dusk and was stunned by the dripping orange sunlight. The way it touched his skin, it left him feeling washed. 

“Something else, huh?” The flight attendant said, stopping next to him on the tarmac. 

He nodded without looking at her.

“I know that look,” she smiled.

“What look?”

“That twinkle in your eyes, sweetheart. You haven’t travelled much have you?”

“Can’t say I have,” he said, offering a small smile and picking up his luggage. “Have a good one.”

“You as well.”

 

Louis got a room at a hotel near Clarissa’s office. He set up his suitcase and unpacked his clothes, hanging up his shirts in the closet next to his pants that his mother ironed before he left. He turned on the radio and plopped down on the bed. The sheets were cool and soft against his warm skin. For a moment he let his mind go completely quiet, just listening to the music. He looked up at the pale orange ceiling fan. There weren’t so many colors in New York. For some reason, his recollections of home were just visions of grey. Here the carpet was a sort of pink and the furniture was different shades of red. He was a long way from home. He lit a cigarette and exhaled a smile.

 

* * *

 Louis had met his Aunt Clarissa four times in his whole life. The last time was five years ago. He would feel out of line about being so presumptuous had he not remembered Clarissa as the kindest, most welcoming woman.

Her office was on a street lined with palm trees. There wasn’t hardly as much foot traffic compared to New York. He was so used to squeezing through to get to where he wanted to go. He fully extended his arms on his short walk to the office just for the hell of it and felt nothing but open space. There was so much space in Hollywood. Everything in New York was crowded. The people, the buildings, the cars, everything and everyone was on top of each other. Now there was room for him to breathe. He walked into the unnecessarily air conditioned office decorated with loud colors and immediately felt out of place. He was brushing past people who were dressed like they were seeing a show on Broadway. He was wearing a jacket over his white button-down shirt that he used to wear to work, a pair of slacks he’d had since he was sixteen that fit him snug, and his dress shoes that he was, just now, realizing he forgot to shine. He looked decent enough in New York, but he looked rather bleak in this setting— and this was his nicest outfit.

He found the secretary sitting at a rich cherry wood desk. When she looked up at him, he was taken aback by how beautiful she was. A spitting image of Claudette Colbert.

“Hello,” she said warmly.

“Hi. I’m looking for Clarissa Austin?”

“Do you have an appointment?”

“With Clarissa? No, no, see, I’m her nephew.”

“Miss Austin is your aunt?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“How nice! Is she expecting you?” She asked with big eyes.

“No, she’s not actually.” And maybe dropping in unannounced wasn’t the best plan.

“Oh, like a surprise?” She said, scrunching her face with a bright smile.

“Yeah, sure, like a surprise,” he said.

“That’s very nice. She isn’t in a meeting, why don’t I go see if she’s busy.”

“That would be great,” he said. She walked down a short hallway her heels making light clicks against the floor. When she was out of sight. He tucked his shirt in tighter and smoothed the pleats in his pants. He heard a light buzzing sound of people busy working. Working on making movies, he smiled to himself at the thought. This is where the pictures are made. He felt pretty pleased standing there. Abruptly he heard, “Louis Tomlinson?” A big booming voice making it’s way down the hall and there she was. Long and curvy with a big mouth and an ever-present smile. 

“Oh my God, little Louis Tomlinson? Is that you?” She took a good look at him, “Still pretty little, I’ll be honest, but all grown up. Holy shit.” She took him into her arms. A strong grip, but somehow soft, like his mothers.

“Aunt Clarissa, how are you?”

“My God, Gretchen, you hear that accent?” She said pulling away from him and putting her hands on his cheeks. “That’s a goddamn New Yorker.” There was a ghost of a New York accent in her voice. You could hardly hear it at all. Her blushing secretary chuckled. He noted that she seemed to twitch almost at Clarissa’s vulgarity.

“Come on, baby doll, tell me what brings you here? You should’ve called I would’ve cancelled my whole day and taken you out,” she said linking arms with him and bringing him back to her office.

“I wanted to surprise you,” he said. She gave him a knowing smirk.

“Real charmer, you are,” she said stepping into her office and taking a seat behind her grand desk.

“Have a seat, have a seat. So tell me what you’re doing here.”

“I guess I wanted to see how films were made. You know, behind the scenes and all that jazz,” he said siting across from her.

“Are you gonna be in town for a couple of weeks?” She asked, lighting a cigarette.

“Actually I was planning on living here for a while,” he said, pulling out his own cigarette from his breast pocket.

Clarissa exhaled a puff of smoke and flicked off the ash, “No shit.”

“That’s the plan. That’s why I wanted to come out and see you. I wanted to know if you had any jobs looking for someone to attend to.”

“Well, my, my, aren’t I crushed. You’re not here because you missed your dear aunt?”

“Yes, of course, of course,” he said.

“You can be honest, there isn’t enough of that around here. People coming in everyday dancing around, playing nice, they always want something. They never just come out and say it. It’s refreshing. You want it, say it. Don’t be shy,” she said before taking a drag.

“So you want a job?” She asked.

“I do,” he said.

She nodded, “All right. I’ll find something in the mail room. It won’t be glamorous, doll, but it’ll be something.”

“Oh, I don’t need glamorous.”

“Well, then be here Monday at seven o’clock,” she said leaning back in her chair.

“Thank you. Really, I do appreciate this,” he said.

“Just don’t fuck it up, okay?” She said with a straight face.

“I’m not gonna— I won’t, I won’t,” he said. She smirked and took another drag.

“Okay. Well, I have a meeting in fifteen minutes,” she said, not-so-subtly gesturing for him to leave.

“Sure, sure,” he said standing up to leave.

“Leave your hotel number with Gretchen and we’ll plan a dinner out,” she said.

“That’d be real nice,” he said, walking to the door.

“Have you ever eaten at the Beverly Hills Hotel?”

“I haven’t.”

“Well, get excited, sweetheart. I’ll introduce you to the prettiest gals in town. Guess who I’m making a movie with right now? Olivia de Havilland,” she said without giving him a chance to respond. Fred was always talking about Olivia de Havilland, if only.

 

* * *

 And so it goes, Louis was at work by 6:45 every morning.

Three months in and he was still in the same peach-hued hotel room and he didn’t have any plans of leaving. It had grown on him. He spent his days sorting through mail and distributing it throughout the office. When he told his parents about his job during one of their biweekly calls, his father pointed out, “Say, Lou, your brain must be a blob of mush by now.” But the truth was, he didn’t find it mundane. He quite liked it actually. He’d become well acquainted with the staff. Mrs. Allister from Public Relations called him ‘sweet bottom’ and Gretchen always brought an extra cookie in her lunch for him. She’d wait until Clarissa was in a meeting and sneak down to the mail room and sit on his desk, shooting the breeze for an hour, sometimes longer. She was a sweet girl. She had a small giggle for a laugh and good taste in music. She lent him a few Dizzy Gillespie records and God, she looked so nervous the first time she gave him one, he didn’t have the heart to tell her he didn’t have a record player. Now she’s comfortable doing it and they’re piling up, giving a nice touch to his room, sitting perfectly disheveled on his dresser. He liked it. Culture and art weren’t staples in his life back home. Dinners weren’t spent talking about pictures or music. They didn’t discuss the new pieces in the galleries downtown. They weren’t a colorful family. Now, he could get away with so much. Not that his parents were too conservative. But one day he was looking in the mirror before he left for work and the sight of his pastel green shirt, suspenders, and a blue bowtie to tie it all together stopped him in his tracks and he was glad his family couldn’t see him. Gretchen always complimented his clothes and every time he thought it might be too much, she was right there with blushing cheeks telling him how lovely he looked. So he went with it. He noticed a positive correlation between how nice someone dressed and their level of success. He felt as though the more dressed up you were, the better off you were. That was until he accidentally overheard a particular conversation.

Louis was handing off Clarissa’s mail one day and was surprised to see Gretchen wasn’t at her desk given that Clarissa was in her office. Through the barely opened door of Clarissa’s office, he overhead Clarissa’s firm voice saying, “You want to find work, I’m telling you what to do. I’m sorry toots, but the tooty-fruity clothes have gotta go. Don’t get me wrong, sweetheart, you look gorgeous. But that’s what has to happen. And that pretty head of hair you’ve got isn’t gonna get you in the movies you wanna get in.”

It shocked Louis because Clarissa’s advice to the actresses was always to ‘Play it up! Bigger is better! Less is more? Hell no, more is more!’ That was until as he was walking away he heard, in a deep voice smooth as a sweet Rosé say, “I’ll cut my hair when hell freezes over, Clarissa. And what do my clothes have to do with anything, anyway? I won’t be wearing my personal wardrobe in the picture.”

And to that Louis couldn’t just walk away. He wasn’t a caddy person, but a man with a deep voice like that arguing about not cutting his hair and his ‘tooty-fruity’ clothes? Anyone would be curious. 

“It’s all about image. They see you and they don’t see the strong, smart, manly man you are, they just see the external frills. They see you out at the Cocoanut Grove with your florals and your curls and they figure it’d be easier to just go with Dana Andrews for the millionth time.”

“You act as though I walk around wearing a dress,” the man replied.

“No, doll, but would it hurt to stick with a black ensemble while they’re looking for recruits?”

“Clarissa, do you honestly think that’s going to be the game-changer?”

“I think it wouldn’t hurt. You’re good, Harry. You’re good and I’m not just saying that, I mean it. They’ll love you, baby, they’re just afraid to give you a chance. Do as I say and see what happens. All you need to do is get your foot in the door and you’ll have them all wishing they could get a hold of you.”

“Louis?” Louis audibly gasped, taking a step back and grabbing the desk behind him.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you,” Gretchen said soothingly. He nodded and raised a hand, “S’all right. I suppose I’m a bit jumpy.”

She smiled than looked from him to Clarissa’s open door then back to him.

“What are you doing?” She whispered. He looked at the door, then down at the mail trolley in front of him, suddenly hearing footsteps from inside.

“I was just dropping this off,” he said, grabbing Clarissa’s stack out of the trolley and handing it to Gretchen, when out of the corner of his eye he saw Clarissa’s door open. He felt guilty looking up to see who it was he was just spying on. He wasn’t sure what he expected but it definitely wasn’t what he was met with. It was a tall young man with shoulder length hair and a powder-blue long, flowing suit. Louis couldn’t look away, he’d never seen a man that looked like that before. He didn’t quite know how it made him feel. Sort of uneasy.

“Harry, this is my nephew Louis,” she said flicking a wrist to Louis with one hand on Harry’s shoulder. 

“Louis this is Harry Styles, now you’re gonna want to remember that name, because one day you’ll see it in lights,” she said then scrunched her face with laughter. Amidst Clarissa’s chuckle, Harry held out his hand. 

“Harry,” he said. Louis felt so strange about the way Harry was looking at him, the way his eyes bore into him. He cleared his throat and shook his hand quick, offering a smile that didn’t reach his eyes.

“Louis,” he said and then looked to Clarissa. 

“The letter from W. R. Burnett you’ve been waiting for arrived today,” he said, pulling his hand free from Harry’s and pointing to the stack of mail in Gretchen’s hands. 

“Oh, thank God. Thank you, doll,” she said grabbing the mail and frantically shuffling through it.

“Harry,” she said, looking up from her mail before descending back into her office. He peeled his eyes off of Louis and turned to Clarissa who was giving him a serious look.

“Think about what we talked about, all right?” She said, in a way Louis’ mother would talk to him when he was a child. Well, not exclusively when he was a child. The look on Harry’s face became solemn for a moment as he nodded to her, then quickly he straightened up.

“I will,” he said.

“I’ll see you on Thursday,” she said then smiling to Louis before rushing back into her office.

“Mr. Styles I didn’t know Ms. Austin was expecting you today,” Gretchen said.

“Yes, Clarissa called me this morning and asked if I could come in today instead of tomorrow,” he said, sliding his hand into his trouser pocket and cocking his hip slightly with his fist resting on Gretchen’s desk.

“I sure am sorry I wasn’t here to greet you,” she said sincerely. “There was this whole debacle with the cappuccino machine in the kitchen.”

“No worries, you’re here now to bid me a fare well,” he said with a smile.

“Farewell, Mr. Styles,” she said sweetly.

“Farewell, Gretchen,” he said then turned to meet Louis’ eyes. 

“Louis,” he said, evenly and nodded his head once.

“Nice to meet you,” Louis said.

“It was nice meeting you as well,” he said and his smile grew a tad. And then he was gone. Louis still felt weird.

“Clarissa is truly convinced he will take Hollywood by storm,” Gretchen said watching him out.

“Ain’t that something,” Louis said absentmindedly. 

“Well,” Louis said abruptly. “I best be on my way.”

He didn’t wait for Gretchen to respond before he set off to distribute the rest of the mail. 

 

He went to the bar that night after work and watched the girl on stage, with a little body and an overly expressive face, sing. He watched her hips swing to the tune and, of all things, Harry Styles with the curls was the image going through his head. Such confidence in the boy, that must be what Clarissa sees. Clarissa was right, the studios didn’t want a man like that on screen. There was something almost feminine about him. He was handsome though, Louis would give him that. He thought about Harry Styles as he sipped his gin martini. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Find me on tumblr @ unefleurharry


	2. Chapter 2

The mailroom hadn’t ever been as tidy as when Louis got his hands on it. It was a smooth operation and by the sixth month he was promoted to postmaster. Gretchen told him how pleased everyone was with him. Apparently he would pop up every now and then in the break room gossip. She mentioned that the girls in the office were charmed by him and then, with a wavering voice, she said, “I suppose you can be rather charming.” Louis smiled at that. 

The glitz and glamour of the business still had him a bit starry-eyed. He hadn’t quite gotten used to seeing movie stars. He had passed Carey Grant in the hallway and held a door open for Judy Garland. One day when Maureen O’Hara came in for a meeting, her dog, Darla, bolted out of her arms and he was deemed the ‘knight in shining armor’ when he caught her. He thought Maureen was beautiful. He was very flattered when Gretchen ran to the mailroom telling Louis that Miss O’Hara had asked for him. 

He walked up to her feeling a little light headed. She grinned and thanked him, again, for saving her dear Darla.

“No problem, Miss O’Hara,” he said.

“I do like a nice New York boy,” she said. Louis tried to suppress the flush he felt creeping up his neck. 

“And I like Irish folk. My best friend back home was Irish. I mean, is Irish. He didn’t die or anything. Still alive,” he said, his words coming out clunky. “Still Irish.”

Maureen let out a light laugh. “You’ll have to tell me more about him sometime.”

“I would like that,” he said, feigning nonchalance.

It wasn’t until after Maureen had left that Louis turned around to see that Gretchen had witnessed the whole exchange. The straight line of her mouth curled downward. 

“I must say,” he said walking over to her desk, then leaning down to level with her, “The cookie today was better than ever.”

She cracked a small smile, “I used more chocolate chips.”

“Sinful,” Louis said with a soft look on his face that had her blushing.

 

* * *

A week later he received word that Miss O’Hara had requested his accompaniment to a posh party at John Huston’s home. He was better able to maintain his composure this go around. He went out and bought a new suit for the occasion and made a special trip to the barber. When he asked Clarissa if he could borrow her Cadillac to take Maureen O’Hara to a dinner party hosted by John Huston, she lifted her chin with a smirk and a newfound respect for him. 

Maureen had a beautiful house in the Hills and Louis was in awe. The grand fountain, the perfectly manicured lawn, the garden off to the side with the edge of a pool peeking out from behind the house had him questioning if he was in a dream or not. There wasn’t anything ordinary about Maureen either. From her red, glossy lips to her satin purple gown, she looked like a million bucks. 

“You look beautiful,” he said. She smiled and let him guide her to the car. 

The party was alive. Mr. Huston’s house was bigger than Maureen’s if you could imagine. There was a hopping Jazz band in the backyard and a few A-listers dancing with glasses of wine in hand. Everyone congratulated Maureen on her new film and Louis happily followed her around like a puppy dog, trying hard not to burst into a giddy laughter over the reality that was his life at that moment. With stars in the sky and at his side, he basked in the chatter of a world more sparkling than he ever could’ve imagined. It was the best night of his life.

At the end of the night, Louis walked Maureen to her door and didn’t have a chance to consider making a move or not before she leaned in and planted a light kiss to his lips. When he got back in the car, he licked his lips and tasted Chardonnay. 

 

* * *

On his drive back to the hotel he couldn’t help the smile on his face. The buzzing in his body was relentless. He wasn’t the least bit tired so instead of laying in his bed for hours, he opted for a drive down Sunset. He went to a club he’d never been to before and was surprised to see the nightlife still so vibrant for having been so late. He took a seat at the bar and ordered a martini. With each sip he felt himself coming down, he felt languid. The girl on the microphone was singing a familiar tune. Bing Crosby, maybe. There were pockets of people around the club talking and laughing. He looked over at the end of the bar and was surprised to see the boy who would take Hollywood by storm. He could only see his profile as he was turned toward the stage with his long legs crossed at the knee. He was wearing a black shirt and black slacks, but with silver shoes. He supposed that was a step in the right direction. The long locks were curly as ever. He had nice hair, Louis thought. Maybe it wasn’t such a crime he didn’t cut it. He gestured for the waiter and ordered a gin martini for the actor. He watched the waiter pour the drink and give it to the boy, exchanging a few words before nodding in Louis’ direction. Harry turned his head to Louis and gave him a wide eyed look. Louis’ smiled with his eyes and cocked his head to the side slightly. Harry’s mouth cracked into a small smile as he raised his glass then took a sip. He sure was a handsome boy, Louis thought. Harry turned back to the stage and Louis slipped away. He retrieved his coat and as he made his way to the front doors, he looked back and caught Harry’s eyes watching him from the bar. Louis, with his coat hooked on his fingers over his shoulder, nodded his head once and Harry just watched as he exited the club.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Find me on tumblr @ unefleurharry


	3. Chapter 3

Things were different after his evening with Maureen. He was the last person to let his ego swallow him up, but he figured it wouldn’t hurt any to ride the wave a little bit. Charlotte and Felicite had a proper freak out upon hearing the news that their very own brother went to a party in Beverly Hills with Maureen O’Hara on his arm. He got it out of his system on the phone with his family, figuring that making a show of it at the office was a bit tasteless. Though there was no getting around facing Clarissa. He knew Clarissa had it in her to rival Louis’ sisters’ charisma. Mind you Felicite let out a shriek at one point and then went on begging Louis to take her out again. Young Felicite was no match for woman with enough fire in her to burn down a forest. Even if he avoided her as best he could, he imagined no one would want to be apart from that Cadillac she let him borrow for very long. 

He drove her car to work the following Monday and made sure to savor the short drive. If he didn’t have an incentive to save up his money before, he definitely did now. He said his goodbyes to the car and made a beeline for Clarissa’s office to return the keys before he had the chance to second guess it. 

Gretchen was sitting prim and proper behind her desk. He admired the effort she seemed to put into her appearance day after day. He was glad he didn’t have to fuss with all that.

“Hi Louis,” she said with a kind smile.

“Hi, doll. Is Clarissa in?”

“She’s not, but she has a meeting soon so if you stick around I’m sure you’ll catch her. Is there something you need?”

“Just needed to talk to her. I’ll just come back later,” he said and just as he turned to walk away, Clarissa rounded the corner.

“Hi, honey,” she said with a voice too loud for it being so early.

“Hey, I was looking for you. Could I see you in your office?”

“Why, am I in trouble?” 

“Not that I’m aware of,” he said. She walked straight into her office, never breaking stride, so he followed her in.

“Then what brings you to my neck of the woods?” She asked as she took a seat.

“Just wanted to return these,” he said, dangling the keys.

“And to think I almost forgot,” she said, her expression completely shifting. “So how was it?”

“Oh you know—” and just as he was about to stutter out a lame excuse as to why he couldn’t stay and chat, the door opened. He turned his head to see Gretchen standing next to Harry Styles, and his mind went blank.

“Harry, baby, good morning! Come take a seat. My darling nephew was just about to divulge the details of his escapades with none other than Miss Maureen O’Hara,” she said with a beaming smile. Louis had a hard time meeting Harry’s eyes and he wasn’t sure why.

“Is that so?” Harry asked, still standing next to Gretchen in the doorway. And speaking of Gretchen, he did look up in time to see her face fall. 

“No, it isn’t so. I was just leaving, actually,” he said.

“Louis, I never took you for a coy one,” Clarissa said, lighting a cigarette.

“You went out with Maureen O’Hara?” Gretchen’s voice was so faint it was almost as if she didn’t mean to say it out loud.

“Surely, you all heard about the extravaganza at John Huston’s home,” Clarissa said and, man, did Louis wish she hadn’t.

“Of course,” Gretchen said with a flat voice.

“That was Saturday night, if i’m correct?” Harry said, making his way over to take a seat. Louis still couldn’t look him in the eye. He wondered if it was clear how uncomfortable he felt.

“You sure are,” Clarissa said, exhaling a cloud of smoke.

“Yes, well,” Louis said clapping his hands together. “Glad we covered that.”

“Okay, I suppose I’ve embarrassed you enough,” Clarissa said. 

“Not at all, but if you don’t mind I think I hear a mailroom calling my name,” he said, turning toward the door. Gretchen must’ve slipped out at some point. Though when he stepped out, he didn’t see her at her desk.

“Oh, Louis, before you go,” Clarissa said, as he was closing the door. 

“Yes?” He said.

“I hate to do this, really, but if you’re not too busy could you run this package to the post office? It needs to go out immediately. I’ll let you drive the Cadillac,” she said, her eyebrows dancing at the proposition.

“Sure.”

He was glad to get a breather. He was starting to feel slightly claustrophobic in there. The sun hit him hard, light reflecting off all the shiny cars. 

“Hey,” he heard from behind him as he opened the car door. It was Harry. Lovely.

“Hello,” Louis said.

“Don’t worry, I only forgot something in my car,” he said with a sly grin.

“I wasn’t worried,” Louis said, watching Harry come closer and closer. 

“So,” Harry said, halting only a couple of feet away from Louis. “Maureen O’Hara, huh?” 

“Yeah,” Louis said.

“Pretty girl,” Harry said.

“Suppose she is, yeah,” Louis said.

Harry hummed with a grin on his face. He was staring straight into Louis’ eyes like he did the first time they met. Louis was looking right back at him this time, noticing an eyelash on his cheek. There was a warm feeling pooling in his stomach. 

From a jewelry-salesman in Manhattan to a postmaster dealing with some of Hollywood’s most prominent players, Louis was consistently dealing with people. It never posed an issue. But there’s something about when he sees this kid, he can barely put together a coherent thought. 

Harry exhaled a deep breath and then walked past him deeper into the parking lot. 

“Oh and Louis,” Harry said.

“Yeah,” Louis muttered, then cleared his throat. “Yes?”

“Thanks for the drink,” Harry said. Louis nodded awkwardly and quickly got into the car. 

 

* * *

 

A few weeks went by and Louis and Gretchen skirted around each other. Gretchen was undoubtedly avoiding Louis and, for some reason, Louis was sort of avoiding her as well. Something felt weird inside of Louis, a bit unsettled. 

He got on with his job and tried to work harder and harder so he could avoid his thoughts. He planned on some redesigns for the mailroom to make it more efficient. He watched, with a close eye, his employees’ tasks and how they followed them out to see what was necessary and what wasn’t. He was cleaning up the small department, turning it into a well-oiled machine. 

His initiative didn’t go unnoticed. After about a month or so, he was given another raise and got a nod from Clarissa.

“You’re good here. I didn’t know how you’d fit in, but it’s been good,” she said one day when he handed over an expedited package. Gretchen wasn’t at her desk. Interestingly enough, she never was when he stopped by. 

“You think so?” He asked.

“Honey, look at you. They love you around here, and not just Mrs. Allister. I can’t decide if she wants to take you out or adopt you. You’re good at your job, but you’re really good with these people.”

“They’re alright,” he said with a hint of a blush. She smiled and lit a cigarette.

“You miss New York?” She asked.

“Sometimes,” he said. It was true. Sometimes in the middle of his soup dinner, the same dinner he always ate, he missed his Ma’s food. Sometimes he missed walking around the park or the lively hustle and bustle of the city. But for the most part, he much preferred California. He felt looser, more free. He dressed differently, talked differently, he even walked differently. He felt more like himself. It felt right.

“Well,” she said, exhaling a puff of smoke. “Do you think you’ll be sticking around?”

Louis took a deep breath and looked over at the signed picture of Cary Grant on the wall with the note ‘To Clarissa, the spitfire I’ll forever keep close to my heart. Keep burning. -Cary Grant’.

“I think so,” he said.

* * *

 Clarissa promoted him to the position of her personal assistant not long after that. He took notes from Clarissa and kept up with her clients making sure their affairs were in order. Clarissa handled a lot of people and, while she’d never come right out and say it, it was clear that she had enough on her shoulders dealing with the A-listers and there weren’t enough hours in the day to handle every little detail of the, well, not-A-listers. 

There was Shawn Crane who had been in a few Buster Keaton silent films and was struggling making the shift to sound. There was Harriet Newman who was a hit in the Chicago Cabaret and wanted to take on Hollywood. There was Theodore Porter who was playing a small role in a western at the moment, and then Harry Styles. Young, handsome Harry Styles who done a few plays and films and wanted to be a star. Harry Styles who had bedroom eyes and long hair. Harry Styles who was turned down time after time for main roles because he didn’t look like Gene Kelly and turned down for extras because he didn’t look like everyone else. Harry Styles who walked into a room and had all eyes on him, you just couldn’t look away. 

Louis had met up with everyone on his list and spoke about their status and their goals, everyone but Harry. He was nervous to ask Harry to dinner, he didn’t know why. Every time Louis sat down to send a telegram to him, he got this tense feeling in his chest and he felt a little lightheaded. It was anxiety, but good anxiety. He didn’t know how to feel about it. 

He finally did it one day. He sent a telegram asking if he could meet Harry for dinner and was meet with a quick response agreeing to meet.

The week leading up to their dinner he was antsy. He would take laps around the office a few times a day just to keep from bouncing out of his chair. He would check on the mailroom to make sure it didn’t all fall to shit with him gone, he grabbed coffees, exchanged small talk with his colleagues, and whatever else he could do to distract himself.

Louis had dealt with more stressful situations regarding business before. He knew there was no need for the nerves tangling in knots in his stomach over this. This really was no more than a mere walk in the park. He said that aloud to himself on the car ride to the Beverly Hills Hotel, yet he couldn’t tame the throbbing anxiety in his chest. 

He arrived at the restaurant fifteen minutes early. He got a table against the wall to the left of the stage, sort of hidden in a corner. He fiddled with his tie while waiting for his tequila shot to arrive. When the waiter arrived, he downed it quickly and ordered two gin martinis for him and his guest. He leaned back in his chair and took deep breaths. He finished his drink and ordered another. He let the buzz of the alcohol quiet his nerves and make room for a sweet warmth to flow through his veins. He managed to slow his heart beat and at 9:03, only three minutes late, he saw a young man, long and lean with a white linen top, black slacks, and shiny black shoes, walk in. Louis watched him as he leaned forward to the hostess to give his name. He noticed the way Harry’s lips sort of puckered when he spoke and the stiff, yet smooth way he gestured with his hands. He noticed the slightly pointed way he stood and the way his wavy hair brushed his shoulder. Louis allowed for his gaze to go down the curve of his neck where his skin slipped under the collar of his shirt. He glanced at his broad shoulders, letting his eyes wander to the curve of his waist to his hips then lower— he jumped when suddenly Harry was moving toward him. Harry had a straight line to his mouth, but his eyes bore into Louis intensely. It unnerved Louis and he couldn’t look him in the eye. 

Harry’s eyes didn’t move as he sat down or even when the waiter spoke to them. When the waiter finished his sentence Harry broke their stare to answer then fellow. Louis didn’t hear a word of what they were saying. It was a weird sort of fugue where everything stopped and the space they were in zeroed in on this young man sitting in front of him. It became clear that Louis wasn’t listening when Harry looked at Louis and said, “Well what do you think?”

Louis looked to the waiter and back to Harry for a moment before he stammered out, “What I think about…” He said trying to look as if he was thinking about the answer.

 “You haven’t ordered yet, I assume,” Harry said, softly.

“No,” Louis snapped into realization, “I haven’t. What do you like?”

“I’d like a burger, but they’re known for their lobster. It’s lovely,” he said with the ease and elegance like when a lady spoke. Yet, somehow, nicer than that. It was nice to listen to, but still weird. 

“Two burgers,” Louis said to the waiter. When the waiter left Louis’ eyes fell to his martini and he took a sip, careful to avert his eyes from Harry.

“I’d like to pick up the check, so you can have desert as well if you’d like,” Harry said with a smile.

“You forget why we’re here, Harry. I know what your paychecks look like and I know you couldn’t afford that,” Louis said with a smirk, glancing at the green eyes in front of him.

Harry sipped his drink at that, still staring right into Louis’ eyes.  
“Has there been a call back for the Hitchcock flick?” Harry asked.

“They’re going a different way for that one,” Louis said, watching Harry’s face drop slightly before taking another drink.

“So let’s talk about that, are thriller films the genre you want to go for?” Louis asked.

“I like the serious films. All my plays were dramas, you know,” he said.

“No musicals?” Louis asked with a small grin.

“No musicals,” Harry said.

“Shame, I bet your voice is lovely,” Louis said, noting the small blush that came to Harry’s cheeks.

“We can arrange for you to find out sometime,” Harry said, crossing his legs under the table. That was a weird thing to say. Louis was thinking about Harry’s legs now. It was almost like his brain was testing itself to see how inappropriate his thoughts could get. Thoughts about his long, long legs, and his slender thighs, and his small bum— whoa okay, was he drunk? He was drunk. 

Louis let out an awkward laugh then cleared his throat.

“I saw that you’ve auditioned for a lot of comedies in the past, tell me about how those went,” Louis said.

“Not so much anymore. I ended up getting two roles. I was auditioning for everything. I played a small character in a Bob Hope film and in one of the Marx Brothers’ flicks,” Harry said. His mouth moved with ease. There was something about the way his slow words sounded and the way his lips moved, it made his scalp tingle. Yep, he was drunk.

“How was that like?”

“They were good films, I enjoyed them. I was quite young in the Marx Brothers’ film, it was a lucky break. There was a lot of talent on those sets. Lovely actors,” Harry said, with a quirky smile. 

“Quite young? You’re quite young now,” Louis said with a crooked look on his face. “How old are you anyway?”

“Eighteen,” Harry said with sweet, doe eyes. Of course he was eighteen. He was in high school just a few minutes ago.

“Eighteen,” Louis whined out a laugh as he rubbed his eyes, he was definitely tipsy. “You’re eighteen.”

“What’s wrong with that?” Harry asked.

“Nothings wrong with that,” Louis answered. “You’re just young.”

“So are you,” Harry said.

Louis huffed out a laugh, “Not that young.” He took the last sip of his third martini. 

“I turn 19 in February,” Harry muttered, taking a sip of his drink.

Louis looked at him, with straight face, “That’s six months away.”

“I’m planning a big party too,” he wiggled his eyebrows. “I’ll be sure you get an invitation.”

Louis gave him an amused smile. He sure was a charmer.

“All right,” Louis nodded. 

Louis only got halfway through his burger before nausea crept through his stomach.

“Let’s talk about your future,” Louis said, leaning back in his seat and lighting a cigarette.

“You’ve gotta lose the hair,” he said, exhaling a stream of smoke. “That’s the consensus. They like you but that don’t like the hair.”

“No,” he said.

“Look, kid, it’s just hair. Cut if for the roles and then grow it out on your off-time,” Louis said.

“I’m not cutting my hair,” Harry said, pointedly. “Kid.”

“You’re not gonna get any main roles with long hair.”

“What’s the big deal?” Harry said with irritation.

“It’s feminine. They don’t want pretty boys, they want men.”

Harry pulled a cigarette out of his breast pocket and put it in his mouth, looking up to Louis with bright eyes. Louis held his gaze for a minute before snapping his attention back and pulling out his lighter. They both leaned over the table to meet each other halfway while Louis lit Harry’s cigarette. 

“You think I’m pretty?” Harry asked with his lips around the cigarette Louis was lighting.

Louis felt a shot of heat to his stomach and leaned back quickly.

“Cut the hair, you’ll get more roles,” Louis said, stiffly.

“I’ll take my chances,” Harry said, holding his cigarette between his index and middle finger, his wrist resting on the edge of the table. 

“Fine,” Louis said, putting out his cigarette in the ash tray and wiped his mouth with his napkin.

  “Are you finished?” Louis asked, nodding at the few bites left on Harry’s plate.

“I am,” he said. Louis whistled at the waiter, who came to retrieve the dishes.

“Did you just whistle?” Harry asked, with a befuddled smile.

Louis looked at Harry trying to make out what he did wrong, “Yeah?”

Harry laughed and took a drag, letting a little gray cloud of smoke come from his berry lips.

“What?”

“Must be a New York thing,” Harry said, shaking his head.

“Must be,” Louis muttered. The waiter cleared their table. 

“I’ll keep my eyes out for roles in drama and try to work around the hair,” Louis said. 

“Next time, I’m gonna have to buy you a drink for a change,” Harry said with a sly look on his face. Louis’ heart tripped over itself.

“You ought to watch your mouth,” Louis muttered.

“I’m sorry,” Harry said, straightening his face. Louis stood up from the table, leaving a fifty dollar bill in his absence.

“Are we done here?” Harry said with an amused look on his face.

“I’ve got work early,” Louis said, sticking his wallet back into his pocket. Harry nodded.

“Did you need a ride home?” Louis asked, obviously hoping the answer would be no. Harry picked up on that.

“No, but thank you,” he said, politely.

“Well, I’ll get a hold of you if anything comes up,” Louis said.

“All right,” Harry said with a small lilt to his voice, still sat at the table.

Louis nodded then said an awkward “Okay, well, goodnight.”

“Goodnight,” Harry said. 

Louis was out of there in no time, behind the wheel, and on his way home.

 

What the hell was that? Was that flirting? Was Harry Styles, eighteen year old stunner who would take Hollywood by storm, flirting with him? Louis felt so strange. If he was honest with himself, it wasn’t the worst feeling. He felt a sort of rush like he had electricity coursing through his body. He felt tingly. Then shame followed quickly. He was just being dramatic. He was drunk, that was all. He took a deep breath and spent the rest of the night trying to ignore his thoughts, pretending he didn’t care. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> talk to me on tumblr!  
> @ unefleurharry.tumblr.com


	4. Chapter 4

Louis could hardly sleep. He stared at the ceiling all night long, his heart beat fast and steady until the sun came up. He couldn’t get comfortable. He turned and tossed but he couldn’t squirm away from the loud, relentless thoughts about Harry Styles in his head. He couldn’t understand what was wrong with him.

Barely having slept a wink, Louis dragged himself out of bed and went to work. He walked into the office building with firm steps and headed straight to Gretchen’s desk. Gretchen was transcribing notes with a bleak look on her face.

“Hey,” Louis called ahead of him. Gretchen looked up with blank look on her face.

“How are you doing?” He asked. She sort of shrugged and just stared at him.

“Well, it’s weird, you know what I woke up craving this morning?” He asked with dark circles under his eyes and a stomach sick from all the anxiety he was having over the young actor he dined with the night before. 

“What?” she asked with an upward lilt to her voice.

“Cookies,” he said. She laughed. They ate lunch together that day and then slowly fell back into a rhythm. They talked a lot and she would go out of her way to walk past him. He noticed. 

It was… It was fine. Again, she was a sweet girl. Louis didn’t have a problem with her, he just really didn’t have strong feelings about her one way or another. She was smart and had a good heart, he appreciated that. He knew she was pretty but it did nothing for him. He never thought about her in a lustful way. He didn’t want to kiss her or touch her. 

However, in the grainy part of the transition from night to morning, Louis would find himself staring at the ceiling letting his mind wander to bad places. He would press the palm of his hand to his bare stomach and wonder how warm Harry Styles’ skin was. He thought about Harry’s young, eager eyes and how they might change if Louis were to touch him. He thought about what his hips felt like and what it was like to kiss his shoulder or knee. He thought about Harry’s lips and what they might feel like on his neck. He was on uncharted territory letting his thoughts go that far. This wasn’t his first encounter with having feelings for a man, but it was never like this. Louis thought about Harry all day long and would sometimes wish he were alone so he wouldn’t have to pretend he was focusing on whatever was in front of him. It was incredibly frustrating. 

He acted on an impulse and sent Harry a telegram saying that they should get together for a meeting. It had been a couple months since they last met and Louis had gotten word about auditions for the lead role in Hamlet on Broadway. It wasn’t film but it was a big gig. They arranged to meet on a cool October evening at the Beverly Hills Hotel.

This time, Harry was there first. Harry’s eyes found Louis as soon as he walked through the door. He let out a little grin and sipped his drink, never taking his eye off Louis as he went to sit. Louis looked like a whore in church, pulse racing and eyes shifting around too nervous to make steady eye contact with Harry. He stopped for a quick drink before his meeting, hoping it would settle his nerves.

“Mr. Styles,” Louis said as he sat, clearing his throat. Harry’s head cocked to the side.

“Mister,” Harry repeated to himself with a funny look on his face.  “Lovely to see you, Mr. Tomlinson.”

Louis felt like a goddamn idiot for blushing like he was. He sipped at the drink in front of him. A gin martini. Louis smiled.

“Good?” Harry asked.

“Good,” Louis nodded.

Harry hummed and pulled out a cigarette. “How are you?”

“Tired,” Louis said. Harry grinned. 

Louis watched him as he pulled the lighter out of his breast pocket and lit his cigarette. There was something very delicate about Harry. He handled his belongings with care and moved with patience and grace. He realized Harry was looking at him so he shifted his eyes to the table and took another quick sip of his martini. 

“And to what do I owe the pleasure?” Harry asked.

“I wanted to talk to you about a role,” Louis said pulling out his own cigarette.

“Oh,” Harry took a drag, then let the smoke ooze out of his mouth when he said, “Do tell.”

“Hamlet,” Louis said. Harry’s face lit up.

“Hamlet?” 

“Hamlet.”

“You’re serious?” Harry looked like he was willing himself not to break out laughing with excitement.

“As a heart attack.”

“Who’s the director? That’s quite an ambitious feat putting that on screen.”

“It’ll be on Broadway,” Louis said easily, trying to gloss over it. 

“Theater?” Harry asked, the flow of his energy coming to a screeching halt. Louis took a long drag.

“Broadway, Mr. Styles,” Louis said, pointedly.

“I’m flattered, believe me,” Harry said. “I just wasn’t expecting offers for theater.”

“I know you’re hoping for an influx of movie roles to just pour into your mailbox, but that takes time. But this is a big deal. It was quite spontaneous, really. I came across a letter sent directly from the executive producer saying that he had seen you in The Good Fairy and loved it. He went on to say that they’re bringing Hamlet back to Broadway and that you are their first choice. I don’t know why but I immediately replied and asked for the script, I didn’t even think about it. They sent it, I read it, and it was incredible. I read the script and I thought of you. I thought of Hamlet and I thought of you.”

“Why’s that?” He asked, smooth, deep voice. “Do you find me whiney?”

“I find you passionate— you know what you want,” Louis said, sitting back in his chair. “Your eyes sort of remind me of what I always imagined Hamlet’s to look like. Light in color, but deep, like you could fall into them. And there was always something about the way Hamlet would play with people.”

“You think I play with people?” Harry asked, mildly offended. Louis shrugged but gave Harry a knowing look. Harry studied his face.

“I don’t play with people,” Harry said. “Isn’t that your job?”

“How do you figure?” Louis asked.

“Well, it comes with the territory, doesn’t it? It’s not entirely your fault. It doesn’t make you a bad person. It’s just that you spend a great deal of time persuading people and manipulating people, in whatever way that might be. Isn’t that how it goes?”

“No more than in any other business,” Louis said.

“But in a way it’s almost worse in this business. You go to Hollywood because you’re a dreamer and you’re full of hope. You’ve given up all reason if you’ve actually made it all the way here. Taking advantage of people like that… it seems worse,” Harry said, his playful voice teetering on the edge of sincerity.

“It doesn’t have to be that way,” Louis said, wanting, for some reason, to reassure him. Harry nodded weakly.

“I’m serious. Is it a game? Yes. But if you play it right, no one has to get hurt,” Louis reiterated. 

“Someone always gets hurt, Louis,” Harry’s eyes were fixed on him.

“People will always be disappointed, but that’s like the rest of the world. There’s a difference between felling down and out about a failed audition and being fucked around with.”

“It’s all bad,” Harry said.

“It’s all hard,” Louis said, then downed the rest of his martini. “You know that I’m not playing with you, right?”

“I know that you know that I don’t want theater parts,” Harry said, his eyes were wavering like a child talking back to their parent for the first time.

“I do know that. And while I don’t have much stake in the game, after all I’m no Thornton Wilder, but I guess I just assumed that Broadway was sort of a big deal.”

“Did they mention that it doesn’t pay much?” Harry asked.

“Oh,” Louis said, shifting his tone to faux melodrama. “I’m sorry. So this is about money. My understanding was that you wanted good parts. I’ll adjust my search from now on.”

“Hey,” Harry said. “Don’t do that. You know that’s not what I meant. You only get a fraction of what I get and if I’m getting nothing… well then. It’s less beneficial if I’m held up with a play. Plays take time and if I’m on stage then I can’t be auditioning for higher paying roles which effects you.”

“You let me worry about that,” Louis said. Harry didn’t respond. Louis looked at him like he had something to say. 

“I’m not playing with you,” Louis said. “I think this would be a good role for you— no bullshit. I talked to the producer and I really think you can make it something else.”

“There you go, Mr. Tomlinson,” Harry said, eyes mischievous. “You’ve never seen me perform.”

“But I’ve seen your films.”

“Oh what, you drew Hamlet from those roles? Vaudeville Marx Brothers takes you to those places?” 

“No, but you did. When you’re on screen, you interact with your surroundings as though you’ve lived there for decades. It feels like you belong. It’s so effortless. Like the way your eyes bore into people. It’s intense, but you probably don’t even think about it. It works. You know what to do. That goes beyond the film, that’s you.”

“What film do my eyes bore into people?” Harry asked, with a little blush on his cheeks.

“You do it to everyone,” Louis said, sipping a new martini that magically appeared at some point.

“Not to everyone,” Harry said, a significantly different tone than Louis was expecting. Louis smiled and shook his head.

“You’re something else,” Louis said under his breath before taking a big drink of his martini, it burned a little going down. Harry quirked a smile, but Louis shook his head. 

“You’re interrogating me about my intentions and yet you prance around here acting the way you do,” Louis said.

“And how do I act?” Harry asked.

“Don’t play with me, Mr. Styles,” Louis cooed, finishing his drink.

“Never,” Harry said sweetly. He knew what he was doing. Louis took a deep breath. 

“I hope you’ll do the play,” Louis added.

“You’ve convinced me,” Harry said. “The city is quite scary though, isn’t it?”

“It ain’t so bad,” Louis said.

“Well, it scares me.”

“Nothing scares you,” Louis said.

“New York does.”

“I’ll go out with you to help you get settled,” Louis said, feeling the alcohol turning the cogs in his brain clumsy. “I mean— you know what I mean. I can go to New York with you and help you unpack.”

“Yes, I got that,” Harry said with a soft smile.

“Good,” Louis said. That martini was a lot stronger than the first two.

“When does it all begin?”

“Rehearsals start in a little over a month. I’ll help you make arrangements. Have you ever made a move like this?” 

“Not like this, no.”

“Well, don’t worry. I’ll take care of you,” Louis said, his cheeks becoming warm. “Take care of it— the move,” Louis voice trailed off. 

They were just looking at each other. Harry was beautiful. He always found himself at this point during a night with Mr. Styles. He always ended up admiring him. He could swim in him. He didn’t know what that meant but that thought kept resurfacing in his mind. He sure was pretty.

“I should get going,” Louis said, it came out almost as a whisper.

“We’ve only had drinks,” Harry said.

“Yes and I can feel it. Would hate to embarrass myself,” he said.

“Ah come on. Eat something, you’ll feel better.”

“You’ll have to excuse me, I can be a bit of a lightweight.”

“That’s never been the case before,” Harry said, reaching out his hand but stopping quickly.

“What can I say? I can’t make a fool out of myself then lose your respect. It would crush me,” Louis teased.

“I respect you, Louis. Always have. You don’t need to feel like you have to work for it,” he said softly.

“I always need to work for your respect,” Louis said. “And you must stop respecting me or anyone when they stop deserving it.”

“Okay, dad,” Harry said and for a long second Louis’ brain glitched.

“What?” Louis asked, his voice cracking. Harry’s confused look was funny, especially when he let himself laugh.

“What?”

“I don’t know,” Louis said.

“Would you like me to give you a ride home?” Harry asked.

“You don’t have to do that,” Louis said, his face getting warmer.

“Don’t start. Let me give you a ride,” he said with eager eyes, leaning over the table to get a better look.

“It’s quite alright,” Louis said.

“But you’re drunk,” Harry said.

“I’ll call a cab.”

“What for?” Harry insisted.

“You’re quite a little force aren’t you?” 

“It’s like you said, Lou. I know what I want,” he said, his eyes playing with darkness. Louis was trying to gauge how serious young Harry was. He was afraid of taking Harry seriously only to find that it was just a part of a game.

“And there you go,” Louis said as he stood up from the table and pulled out some cash. “No need to play with me, Harry.”

“I’m not playing with you, Louis.”

“Stop,” Louis said. He was feeling flustered.

“Okay,” Harry said. Louis was planning on making a grand exit but he was just staring at Harry like an idiot.

“Let me take you home,” Harry said. 

“I can’t,” his words came out weaker than he intended. Harry sat back, surrendering. “Goodnight,” Louis said.

“Goodnight,” Harry replied.

* * *

 

“I went with my girlfriend but, this is very embarrassing, but her shirt got caught on the bar and it— well, it completely tore open in the back. So we left immediately. We left before he stepped foot on stage,” Gretchen said with giggle.

“That’s a shame,” Louis smiled at the ground. 

“Yeah,” she whispered.

“I bet he was wonderful,” Louis said.

“Of course he was,” Gretchen smiled. “Clarissa is in the works with hiring his wife.”

  “Whoever told her that was a good idea?” Louis sipped his afternoon beer.

“Haven’t you seen The Lounge? She was so lovely in it,” Gretchen beamed.

“She is lovely, but Clarissa only has so many hours in a day. I marvel at how she can manage it all.”

“Perhaps the secret is that she can’t,” Gretchen said. “You’ve got nearly ten of her overflow.”

“I don’t mind one bit,” Louis said.

“It can’t be easy. I know what it’s like, it’s a full time job, I’ve seen it. Just wait until Spring.”

“What happens in the Spring?” Louis asked, his rosy cheeks turned to the bright window.

“Clarissa will take a look at the roster and see if cuts need to be made.”

“Who do you think will go?” Louis let his eyes lull shut.

“Michael Franz, I can imagine. Probably Scott Walker, Luisa Johnson, maybe Harry Styles,” Gretchen said. Louis’ opened his eyes.

“Why?”

“Hm?” Gretchen asked.

“Why them? How does she decide?”

“Well I’m sure you know about Mr. Franz’s little outburst at the party in New York. No one’s forgotten about that. I think Clarissa’s just waiting for his project to wrap.”

Louis was staring at her.

“And the others?” He asked.

“Now these are just my guesses. She hasn’t spoken with me about this.” 

“I understand,” Louis prodded.

“They just haven’t worked much. It’s not good for business having them stuck in stalemate.”

“Harry Styles just landed a role on Broadway. Hamlet, lead role,” Louis said like he was a proud dad.

“This isn’t Madam Clarissa’s Theater Agency in Hoboken. She’s popping out A-listers over here,” she said.

“I don’t understand,” Louis said, sitting up in his chair. “Getting a role on Broadway is an honor, let alone the lead role in one of the more popular stories of our time. Why is that looked down on in this town?”

“Out here, they’re not concerned about New York. They’re worried about the big picture,” Gretchen said. 

“I guess so,” Louis sat back in irritation.

“What’s wrong?” She asked.

“Oh, nothing,” he brushed off her concern. 

“Gretchen, I’m going to take a little time off. I need a cold drink and a hot bath,” Clarissa said, flying through the office.

“Louis, darling, I didn’t know you were in here,” she said when she saw him.

“I was just on my way out,” Louis said, trying to hide the beer and maneuver it into the trash bin under Gretchen’s desk. 

“Please don’t let me interrupt social hour, the day is young, take your time,” Clarissa said. Louis rolled his eyes. 

“Actually can I talk to you for a moment?” Louis said, pointing to Clarissa’s office door.

“Certainly, Mr. Tomlinson. And Gretchen, I’ll be leaving early today notify Joan incase she has anything that needs my attention before the weekend.” 

“Yes, Miss Austin.”

Louis opened the door for Clarissa, then closed it behind the both of them.

“What can I help you with?” She asked taking a seat behind her big desk.

“I wanted to make sure you heard about Mr. Style’s upcoming role in Hamlet on Broadway.”

“I heard.”

“I was thinking about taking a trip out with him to help him get situated.”

“Ah,” Clarissa smirked. “How noble.”

“Well, he’s young,” Louis smiled. Clarissa nodded.

“When will you be leaving?” 

“Six weeks from now,” Louis said.

“Exciting,” she said.

“It is,” he said. She nodded again and watched him tentatively.

“Is there anything else, Louis?” She asked after a moment.

“No that’s all,” he said and rubbed his neck.

“Alright then,” she said. Louis reached for the doorknob. 

“It’s quite impressive, isn’t it? Mr. Styles taking on Broadway?” Louis said with a sweet smile.

Clarissa let out a deep breath and sat back in her chair. “It is.”

“To think that I’ll see a show starring someone I know,” Louis thought out loud.

“You get used to it,” Clarissa said.

“Maybe,” Louis said. “He’s good.”

“He is special, isn’t he?” Clarissa said fondly. Louis let the words soak into his skin. 

“He’s very unique,” Louis chose his words carefully. “Will you come out to see him perform?”

Clarissa bobbed her head. “I suppose I am due for a visit.”

“The girls would love it,” Louis said.

“They’re sweet. Too sweet for New York.”

“They can hold their own,” Louis smiled, but it was true.

“If they’ve got your mother’s blood,” Clarissa affirmed. Louis smiled.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> unefleurharry.tumblr.com <3


	5. Chapter 5

Louis was up at 3 AM to catch his 5 AM flight to New York City. He finished packing in a sleepy haze and every once in a while, with nothing but the sound of the quiet breeze in the background, a thought about Harry would appear in his mind and he’d smile. 

The plane ride was long and bumpy. Harry slept through it all. His puffy eyes and sleep-swollen lips remained still and calm throughout the whole flight, turbulence and all. Louis laughed a little. In his delirious state, he couldn’t shake the image in his head of him leaning forward and smelling Harry’s hair and his skin or touching his cheeks and his lips. But he only looked out the window. He loved airplanes. He loved airplanes that took him to his mother. He loved airplanes that came with such a view.

“Harry,” he whispered, gently nudging the sleeping boy’s shoulder. Harry’s eyes lulled open. He looked around, then focused on Louis. Harry smiled.

“Time to get up,” Louis said.

“Hello,” Harry said with a groggy voice.

“Sleep well?” Louis asked.

“Mmm,” Harry hummed with a sleepy smile. “Did you?” 

“Wasn’t tired,” Louis said.

“What, are you a superhuman or something?”

“Something.”

“Maybe you’re an alien.”

“Wouldn’t that be something?”

“Something glorious.”

* * *

The city was the same. The slapping wind bit your skin, leaving you pale and shivering. It reeked and it was gray and it was home. 

They slowly searched through the city for Harry’s new place of employment. Louis knew a short-cut to the theater, but he made the executive decision that they would take the long way. Harry squirmed between people like his body was suddenly too long and complicated to operate. His teeth chattered and he shivered with his arms wrapped around himself. 

“Are you alright?” Louis asked sympathetically.

“Yes,” Harry forced a smile, the cold wind flushed his cheeks pink. Louis was so used to Harry being sun-kissed and comfortable in his skin. Now, Harry looked utterly miserable and out of place, no matter how hard he tried to hide it.

“Look there,” Louis said, pointing across the street.

“Segel’s Jewels?”

“I used to work there,” Louis said.

“Did you? You sold jewelry?” Harry looked terribly amused by that.

“I did,” Louis said, which made Harry laugh.

“Why’s that funny?” 

“I don’t know. It just makes me laugh. Were you any good?” Harry asked.

“At selling jewelry? I was alright. But speaking of corrupt businesses…” Louis said.

“Were you a crook, Mr. Tomlinson?” Harry asked, turning his big eyes to Louis, a smile playing on his lips.

“Was I ever,” Louis said, making his eyes wide and his smile manic. Harry laughed big and loud. Louis couldn’t look away from him.

“I want to see you sell someone jewelry.”

“Why?”

“I think it’d be funny,” Harry said.

“Me selling someone a necklace? What are you talking about?”

“You and a faux smile and rehearsed banter,” Harry teased.

“Pshaw, rehearsed banter. Who do you think I am?”

“Did you get a lot of women coming in?” Harry asked.

“Some. Mostly rich husbands.”

“Did you schmooze?” Harry asked.

“I didn’t need to,” Louis said with his nose turned up.

“My my, are you saying you were you a natural?”

“They came because they wanted to make someone happy. Their intention was to do something good. All I had to do was make them remember that point and figure out who they were shopping for— leave out the fluff. You just gotta talk to people.”

“Was it mostly sorry dickheads who fucked up and needed a gift to reconcile?” Harry asked.

“And when did you get so cynical?”

“Am I wrong?”

“Not entirely,” Louis admitted. “But Jesus.”

“Well. I would like to have been wrong, if that makes it any better,” Harry said.

Louis nudged Harry’s arm and smiled. A gust of wind hit them face on, blinding them for a moment.

“Is this unusual?” Harry asked with a pained look on his face.

“Unfortunately, no.”

“And you grew up here?”

“I did,” Louis’ chest might have puffed up a bit. New Yorkers were annoying like that.

“Your skin must be a bit tougher for it,” Harry grumbled.

“Oh no, don’t you remember, darling?” Louis asked softly as they rounded the corner, the lights from the marquee of the theater Harry would be working at shimmering bright. 

“I’m an alien,” Louis made his eyebrows dance and Harry basked in the warmth of Louis’ smile.

The two walked into the theater and their first breaths were like smelling spring grass for the first time after a long winter. The theater smelled like old money and good perfume— a stark contrast to the dirty streets. The lights were a dim, rich yellow and the carpet a vibrant bloody red. It was breathtaking. Louis stood awestruck by the tall building while the sudden silence made Harry’s chattering and shivering sound medically problematic.

“Are you alright?” Louis asked, hovering over the hunched-over Harry.

“It’s fucking cold,” Harry said. Louis unwrapped his neck scarf and handed it to Harry who grabbed it without hesitation. 

“If you need it back, let me know,” Harry said and put the scarf on.

“Alright. If your fingers turn purple and begin to fall off, let me know.”

“Mr. Styles, is that you?” A woman called over, her voice entering the lobby of the theater before her being. Harry looked up briefly, then shook his hair out and stood up straight. He looked like a lion suddenly.

“It is, ma’am,” Harry beamed. Louis smirked at the way Harry turned on the charm.

“Madam Jureau, I am the wife of Jean-Claude, your soon-to-be director,” she said with a light French accent, reaching her hand out to which Harry kissed.

“Pleasure to meet you,” Harry said.

“You as well, Mr. Styles,” she cooed. 

“My look at you,” she said, looking him up and down. “So tall and beautiful.Your hair looks thick and dark like an Italian boy I dated a hundred years ago. Are you Italian?”

“No, madam.”

“Are you French.”

“My father is,” Harry said.

“And your mum?”  
“British.”

“Lovely… Yes, you are beautiful. Like you just walked out of a painting,” she said with a sort of dreamy voice. Louis squirmed and Harry looked like he was in new territory, as well. 

“You’re making me blush, madam,” Harry said.

“We are absolutely thrilled to be here,” Louis said, straightening up the weird energy of the room.

“Yes, dear, and we’re glad you are here. I’m sorry, I didn’t catch your name,” she said, holding out her hand.

“Louis Tomlinson,” he said.

“Nice to meet you, Louis,” she said, strengthening her accent when saying his name.

“This is a truly remarkable theater,” Louis said, looking up at the ceiling.

“It’s lovely,” Harry agreed.

“Merci, les garçons. Come, let me show you to my husband.”

Mrs. Jureau took Louis and Harry to Jean-Claude Jureau’s office in the back of the theater. It was quite a hike and, finally, Harry was beginning to look alive again. Mr. Jureau’s office was small and cluttered. 

“Welcome, Harry,” Mr. Jureau said warmly with a surprisingly American accent.

“Thank you, sir,” Harry said. Mr. Jureau was very handsome. It was hard to ignore. He was tall and had a scruffy beard. 

“Do you know how badly we wanted you, Harry?” He asked, with a soft voice. There was a slight European lilt to his voice.

“I’m very flattered,” Harry said and now he really was blushing.

“The golden boy from California,” Mr. Jureau mused as he took in the sight of Harry. 

“And I’m Louis. I work for Miss Austin,” Louis interjected, reaching out his hand between the two men.

“Ah, hello,” Mr. Jureau shook his hand.

 

Mr. Jureau gave the boys a brief history of the theater and described his vision for the upcoming production. It had all been covered in the conversation Louis had on the phone with him a couple of months prior, but Harry and Jean-Claude had a good conversation. Harry seemed to agree with Jean-Claude’s aesthetic and the two hit it off. 

“I want it dark and quiet. I want to be able to hear a pin drop during your pauses. I want you to be the center of the theater. I want the audience to see you become swallowed up by your heart and your devotion. I want it to be intimate.”

“Sounds lovely,” Harry said. “By the end, the audience may hate Hamlet if they get too close to him.”

“That’s why we picked you, Harry. It’s impossible to hate you. We’ll have them wrapped around your finger,” Jean-Claude said with dripping sincerity. Louis squirmed. And in that moment, Louis looked at Jean-Claude then at Harry and realized that Harry wasn’t uniquely special to Louis. Other people saw what Louis saw. Harry was going to shine. He was going to grow and become something big and ground-breaking. Louis could see Harry’s bright future in that moment. He looked at Harry and he knew that he was looking at a legend waiting to step out on stage. 

“You’re very kind,” Harry blushed.

“He’s right,” Louis said. Everyone in the room turned their eyes to Louis, Louis didn’t notice. 

“Thank you, Louis,” Harry said fondly and, in that moment, Louis and Harry were the only two people in the world.

“My husband has a good eye,” Mrs. Jureau said and laughed politely. Everyone smiled and Jean-Claude went on to talk more about the play. 

* * *

The men left the theater when the sun began to set and scurried through the streets looking for a place to eat. They sought refuge in a sparkly diner and ordered pancakes and coffee. 

“They were nice,” Harry said politely.

“They were in love with you,” Louis pointed.

“They’re French,” Harry said dismissively and sipped his coffee.

“Yes, and they adore you.”

“Are you trying to embarrass me?” Harry asked.

“Ladies and gentlemen, the shrinking violet of Hollywood,” Louis said.

“Give me a break,” Harry laughed.

“You can’t be an actor and hate attention, Mr. Styles,” Louis said. Harry shrugged.

“I don’t hate it. It’s just embarrassing.”

“Isn’t this what most actors live for? Showers of adulation?”

“Yes, I suppose. And when I’m lying in bed at two in the morning tossing and turning in a new bed, unable to sleep, I’ll think about them petting my ego like a puppy and giggle like an idiot. And then, only the moon and God will be able to laugh at me. Not you.”

“At least your honest.”

“Very important for an actor.”

* * *

They hauled a taxi and found a nice hotel. Harry’s new apartment would be ready to move into in a week. Until then, him and Louis would be staying at the hotel.

They got two modest rooms next to each other and ordered a bottle of champagne.

The two drank on Harry’s balcony, the alcohol and the fire from the fireplace keeping them warm.

They bullshitted and laughed and drank and let themselves unwind. 

After a moment of silence, both of them looking out onto the vivacious city, Harry looked over at Louis with serious eyes.

“Do you really think it went well today?” Harry asked, eying Louis with his head leaning back on the chair.

“I do,” Louis said.

“You don’t think they’re a bit eager?” Harry asked. Louis looked at Harry and was reminded of how young he was.

“I do, but I don’t think you need to worry.”

“No?”

“No,” Louis said easily. “They’re art-y. They can be a bit weird.”

Harry smiled sweetly.

“Did he make you uncomfortable?” Louis asked.

“Eh,” Harry brushed him off. “Not really. I just couldn’t tell whether or not they were making fun of me.”

“Oh, Harry,” Louis said softly. “No one’s making fun of you.”

Harry looked at him out of the corner of his eye. “You’re awfully sure of yourself.”

“I am,” Louis said firmly. “But if they make you uncomfortable and it doesn’t feel right, we can catch the next flight back to LA.”

“Do you think I should worry?” Harry asked.

“No,” Louis said honestly. 

“Do you still think that this is a good idea?” Harry asked, finally.

“I do,” Louis said, his voice unwavering.

“Okay,” Harry said confidently, then closed his eyes. He was boozy and warm, drifting with the cool night air. 

“You’re doing so well,” Louis said. Harry smirked with his eyes still closed.

“Don’t play with me, Louis,” Harry said.

“Never,” Louis said.

 

Louis left Harry’s room at midnight and fell into the cold sheets in his room. The room was spinning a little and his skin was vibrating. He felt good and at peace. His drunken mind was fixated on how well Harry had done that day. He was professional and charming, he won over the whole city as far as Louis was concerned. He was so sure of Harry. In that moment he believed Harry would dazzle the whole world. He believed he was looking at the next phenomena. He believed he was looking at a real life star.  He couldn’t contain it. He was drunk and proud and he couldn’t hold it in. He dragged himself out of his room and to Harry’s door. He knocked too many times and woke a sleeping Harry.

“Hi,” Harry greeted said with an unassuming smile.

“You’re going to take the world, Harry. You’re going to hold it in your very own hands one day. I see it, I know it.”

“Were you just visited by an angel?”

“You’re a star, Harry. I can feel it,” Louis was quiet but passionate. Harry smiled at him bleary eyed and drunk.

“Thank you, Louis,” Harry said. Louis looked at him firmly. He really wanted Harry to believe him. He wanted him to know that it was true. He felt the moment and then nodded.

“I’m sorry for waking you up,” Louis said.

“That’s alright.”

“Goodnight, Harry.”

“Goodnight, Lou.”

 

* * *

 

They woke up at three o’clock in the afternoon. Louis had a head ache and Harry wore a loose, billowy white shirt with pink-rimmed, jet-lagged eyes. They walked to a small cafe and sat and drank coffee for a couple of hours. Harry leaned back in his chair and Louis told him about the city. They moved slowly and maintained their bubble of Californian serenity. They nibbled on Turkish delights and giggled over dumb stories in their slap-happy state of mind. 

“Do you miss New York, Mr. Tomlinson?”

“Why d’you call me that?” Louis whined.

“You started it,” Harry pushed.

“I did, didn’t I?”

“You did, Louis.”

“I’m sorry, Harry.”

“Well, do you miss it?”

“Yes, but I want to live in California.”

“Why?”

“It’s less stuffy there. You can breathe and wiggle around in your space. It’s so constricting here.”

“Plus your girlfriend’s back west,” Harry added.

“What?” 

“Gretchen,” Harry said.

“Gretchen’s not my girlfriend,” Louis said with a funny look on his face.

“Sure seems like it.”

“Really? How do you figure?” Louis asked.

“Louis she melts around you. She’s absolutely gone for you.”

“I don’t think so,” Louis muttered.

“Do you like her?” Harry asked.

“Not really,” Louis said without thought. “She’s great, but I don’t feel what I’m supposed to feel.”

“What do you mean ‘what you’re supposed to feel’?” Harry asked sympathetically.

“I don’t know. You don’t know what I mean?” Louis asked and for some reason it felt really intimate. 

“I know what you mean,” Harry smiled hopelessly. “I don’t think she knows that though.”

“She’s become sort of a best friend to me,” Louis shrugged. “I won’t rock the boat.”

“You’ll break her heart,” Harry said.

“You don’t know that,” Louis said.

“I can only imagine,” Harry said, his eyes unwavering. Louis smirked and shook his head at Harry.

“Are you still drunk? I think I’m still drunk,” Louis said and laughed.

“I think I am too,” Harry said, glossy-eyed.

The sun was shining and warmer than the day before. According to the newspaper, the weather would only get warmer throughout the week. They walked around the city and threw their heads back in the sunlight. They loitered around street musicians and threw nickels and dimes into saxophone cases and guitar cases. They walked close enough together to feel one another’s body heat. They went through another half a bottle of wine and turned the radio up loud in Harry’s room. Harry swayed to slow jazz on the balcony and Louis sat with his feet propped up on the flowerbed lining the balcony and watched him. Harry’s delicate curls lining the sides of his face danced in the nighttime breeze and Harry’s head was thrown back with his eyes closed. His body moved smoothly, making him look like a figment of air and nature. Louis was drunk and smoking a cigarette and, there he was, realizing it again for the umpteenth time, completely mesmerized by how beautiful Harry is. He felt this strong urge to grab him and kiss him. He was too drunk to be embarrassed about it too.

“Harry, you look like no one else there ever was,” Louis said in a daze. Harry opened his eyes and fixed them on Louis.

“That a compliment?” Harry asked. His hips were still swaying with the wind. Louis couldn’t look away.

“Yeah,” Louis nodded.

“Thank you,” Harry said.

* * *

Louis slept better than he had in a long time that night. His parents were expecting him to arrive in three days. It felt like a month away. New York was falling prey to an Indian Summer and the next day it was 85º and too sunny to go out without sunglasses. Louis took Harry to the park and they basked in the warmth of the sun and the happy people. Louis stretched and stroked withering flower petals while Harry scribbled in his journal from a park bench. Eventually they switched places. Louis using his cardigan as a pillow on the bench seat while Harry touched his toes then stretched his arms over his head. He tipped his head forward and shook out his hair and then flipped it back up. Louis quietly loved when Harry did that. 

“New York looks like a Monet,” Harry drawled out with a sleepy voice. Louis couldn’t help but laugh.

“You sound like a dick,” Louis teased. Harry grinned.

“Do you think Monet would’ve painted me?” Harry asked, batting his eyelashes.

“If you asked him nicely,” Louis responded. “The French seem to like you.”

Harry slipped his hands under the bottom of his blouse and pressed his palms on the bare skin of his hips. It was embarrassing how much Louis admired this kid.

“Are you excited about your apartment?” Louis asked.

“Yeah,” Harry said, his head turned to the sky.

“Do you have a roommate back in LA?”

“Yeah,” Harry said.

“Will this be your first time living alone?” 

“It’ll only be for a couple of months, mother,” Harry mocked.

“You’re handling it awfully well for someone who was scared of New York only but a few weeks ago.”

“I’m not too scared. Will you come out and visit me often?”

“You’ll be gone for a matter of weeks,” Louis said. Harry smirked and took his sunglasses off.

“Will you write me? Will you miss me?” Harry asked. 

“You’re not shipping off to France,” Louis said.

“Will you think of me fondly?” Harry looked at him with dreamy eyes and knelt down beside the bench so he was face to face with Louis.

“My days will be long and lonely,” Louis said, giving into Harry.

“I’ll be back before you know it.”

“That’s what I’ll tell myself.”

They smiled at each other.

“You hungry?” Louis asked.

“Is it part of your job description to keep me fed?”

“It is actually. I’m a glorified nanny for Hollywood stars.”

“Ah-ah-ah,” Harry wiggled his finger at Louis. “Broadway stars.”

“Ah, yes. My apologies.”

“I want a popsicle,” Harry said.

“Alright,” Louis said standing up from the bench. “There’s an ice cream truck a few blocks down.”

“Thanks, Louis.”

 

They ate popsicles, sitting on the steps of the Met.

“Is there a reason for why we’ve been here for three days and you haven’t seen your family yet?” Harry asked with red cherry-stained lips.

“They think I’m coming on Friday. I wanted to take a few days to reacquaint myself with the city.”

Harry smiled. “You’re very dramatic, you know.”

“Well, they can be quite overwhelming.”

“Do you love them?”

“I do. They can just be a lot,” Louis said.

“Tell me about them,” Harry poked.

“Not much to tell. There’s my parents and my two sisters. Clarissa is my mom’s sister, as I’m sure you’ve heard by now.”

“What are your sisters like?”

“Charlotte is seventeen and tough as nails and Felicite’s fourteen. She’s quiet, but she’s smart as a whip.”

“Like you.”

“No, I’m much smarter than her.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> unefleurharry.tumblr.com
> 
> <3 <3 <3
> 
> Talk to me!


	6. Chapter 6

Moving day was easy enough. The apartment came with a bed and couch— plenty according to Harry. They unpacked Harry’s only box along with his suitcase, which took all of about an hour. Harry flitted around in a light blue top and unusually fitted pants and Louis didn’t mind it.

“I like it,” Harry beamed at the small apartment. “Do you like it?”

“I do,” Louis said. It was a nice place. It was small with an open layout and big windows. It was perfect for Harry.

“We need to make a shopping list,” Louis said. 

“In a little while,” Harry said, walking over and plopping down on the couch. “Now, we have an apartment to admire.” Harry’s hair was getting longer and it fell, splayed out around him where he laid his head back on the couch. His eyes were tired and happy. His body draped over the couch like a blanket and Louis was sure there had never been a more attractive man. You didn’t need to be attracted to men to find Harry attractive.

“We can, if you want. It’s not a very New York thing to do, but we can,” Louis said, plopping next to Harry.

“I’ll get there,” Harry dismissed Louis. “For now, we are California men with no place to be.”

“Are you excited for next week?” Louis asked.

“Yeah,” Harry smiled. “I’ve memorized almost the whole thing.”

Louis turned to face Harry. “And when did that happen?”

“I read it before I go to bed,” Harry said. Louis shook his head in amazement.

“And they say that kids from the West Coast are lazy.”

“Well, I’m not really from the West Coast, Louis,” Harry said.

“Really?”

“Really.”

“Where are you from then?”

“Here and there,” Harry flicked his wrist.

“Come on, tell me,” Louis said.

“And why are you bothered?” Harry asked.

“I’m not bothered. Just curious.”

“Curiosity kills cats, Louis. Never forget that,” Harry wiggled his finger at Louis.

“Fuck off,” Louis laughed and stood up from the couch. He stretched his back and took in a lungful of fresh, rented-apartment air. He felt serene. He turned to Harry, who was being nearly blinded by the sunlight coming in from the right of him, and sighed. Harry was beautiful.

“I’m gonna get going,” Louis said.

“You can stay if you’d like,” Harry said. Louis smiled.

“I’ve gotta run some errands then turn in early. Family tomorrow,” Louis said. Harry nodded.

“Thanks for all your help, Louis.”

“No worries.”

 

Louis left Harry’s new apartment with a feather-light heart. He couldn’t wipe the smile off his face. He bought a new pair of slacks and a new shirt on his way back to the hotel. Louis didn’t wear the same ill-fitting clothes that he left New York wearing and he really wasn’t trying to make any sort of statement to his parents about where his life was headed. White shirt, gray pants, shiny black shoes.

He ran his knuckle along Harry’s hotel door and smiled. It was one of those surreal moments in his life where he couldn’t believe it was possible to feel so good.  

* * *

 

“There he is!” Pop yelled when Louis walked in the house. His sisters squealed and ran to grab a hold of him. Ma stuck her head out of the kitchen then lit up when she saw Louis. 

“Is this my boy?” She sang, holding Louis' face in her hands. He hadn’t realized how much he missed his mother until that moment.

“Hi, ma,” he said.

“When did you get so handsome?” 

Louis rolled his eyes and hugged her tight.

 

“What lipstick did she wear?” Charlotte asked.

“Red,” Louis said, as he twirled his spaghetti with his fork.

“Which red?” She asked. Louis looked up at her. Which red? Which shade of red? Lottie was looking at him like it was obvious what she meant and so did the other women at the table.

“Red… red?” 

“What?” 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Louis surrendered.

“You got weird,” Felicite added.

“Are you drunk?” Charlotte asked.

Louis yelled “No!” at the same time Louis’ parents yelled “What?!”

“Watch your mouth, Charlotte,” Pop said pointing his fork at her

“He’s acting like an idiot,” Charlotte pointed.

“Would you eat your food?” Ma snapped at her. There was a long silence, nothing but the sound of the distant city buzz from the open windows and clinking silverware.

“What brand was the lipstick, Louis?” Felicite explained to which everyone at the table huffed and groaned.

“I don’t know what brand of lipstick she uses,” Louis said finally.

“Clarissa sent me a picture of you and her. It was a nice picture,” Ma said, which meant they were now changing the subject.

“Clarissa was doing a photoshoot in the office for the paper that day,” Louis said. “The spaghetti is really amazing, ma."

“Do you eat in California?” She asked passive aggressively.

“Nope.”

“You look skinny, Lou.”

“These past few days I’ve been doing a lot. It’s probably from that,” Louis said.

“What, sitting on a plane?” Charlotte asked. Louis went to give it back, but then realized he had put himself in a corner.

“Before that,” Louis said, dismissively. “Hows the restaurant?”

“Oh, Lou. You gotta hear this, the other day a real uppity filthy-rich yuppy came in to talk about buying out the restaurant,” Pop said, trying to hide his pride, but failing.

“Wow, you gonna sell it?” Louis asked. His father made the same facial expression as he did after Louis started trading his Dodgers baseball cards for Yankee ones.

_“Louis, my son, we are Dodgers fans. What the hell is this garbage?”_

“Louis, that restaurant is my livelihood, you think I would just sell it?”

Louis didn’t know what that meant but he backed off. Louis’ father was ridiculous, but he missed these conversations a little bit. 

“Sell the restaurant,” his father grumbled to himself. “That’s my restaurant.”

“We could be rich,” Charlotte pointed. Pop looked at Charlotte and then wiped his face and put his elbows on the table.

“Now yous guys listen and you listen good,” Louis father said. Ma might’ve rolled her eyes a little bit, but she had a small smile on her mouth. “Money ain’t everything. I hope you three never sell your passion. It’s like selling your goddamn heart or something.” 

“Don’t use the Lord’s name in vain,” Ma said sternly.

“I’m sorry, dear,” his father said quietly before starting up again. “Love is what makes life worth living. I love you and you and you and you, my love,” he said, kissing Ma’s cheek. Ma saw him for the eccentric and, at times, dopey man he was, but she couldn’t help it. She smiled at him like he was ridiculous, but she was in love.

“I love you four, I love the restaurant, I love this city, I love this house, and therefore my life means something. It means you guys, it means my customers, it means the schlubs at the restaurant that I overpay for sitting around doing zilch, all that gives my a purpose. You remember that. Nothing really matters if you don’t love what’s in your life.”

Everyone sat in silence while Louis’ father nodded, then started eating again. Ma kissed Pop on the cheek.

“That was beautiful, dear,” she said, then started eating again. She looked up at the three kids who were still savoring the moment and said, “Your foods gonna get cold, come on.”

 

 

“Tell me about where you’re staying,” Ma said, sitting in the living room, just her and Louis.

“I’m renting out a hotel room.”

“Are you serious?” She was not pleased.

“Things have been crazy, Ma. I’ll find a new place when I get home.”

“Louis, you’ve been there almost a year,” she said.

“I know, but it’s a nice place and it’s easy to get to work. It’s not so bad,” Louis said.

“Please, find yourself a real apartment as soon you get home.”

“Okay.”

“Are people treating you well?” Ma asked, with a softness to her voice. The softness only a mother has.

“Yeah,” Louis smiled.

“Have you made any friends?” 

“Yeah, a few,” Louis said. Harry popped into Louis’ head and while Ma starting talking about something else, Louis was reminded, out of no where, of how perverse he’s become since he left home. He felt dirty sitting in front of his mother all of a sudden.

“I’m trying to do good, Ma,” he said abruptly. 

“I know you are, sweetheart,” Ma said and, for some reason, that hit a nerve and Louis could feel tears pooling in his eyes. He played it off and asked his mother about her bridge club.

* * *

Louis fiddled with the kitchen sink that seemed to have a loose pipe while Harry ironed his clothes. Louis saw from the kitchen Harry pulling out a shirt with flamingos on it and he rolled his eyes.

“Where do you buy your clothes?”

“Stores,” Harry said.

“You dress like a barbie doll,” Louis said.

“You don’t like the way I dress?”

Louis shook his head with a grin on his face, feeling a slight blush creep up his neck which was fucking embarrassing, not to mention, unnecessary. 

“Do you think you’re gonna want to do any painting?” Louis asked, transition smooth as ever.

“Like… a canvas?” Harry asked absentmindedly, focused on his ironing. Louis sighed.

“No, like the fucking walls.”

“Oh, can I do that?” Harry asked.

“The bathroom is bright red and there are crayon marks in the corner there,” Louis said pointing to the corner of the apartment. Harry craned his neck to get a look at the flower doodles. “I’m sure the manager wouldn’t be too cross.”

“I’ll only be here two months,” Harry said.

“Yeah, but that bathroom, Harry.”

“It’s not so bad.”

“Harry,” Louis pushed.

“Louis. Different strokes for different folks, my friend.”

“It’s bright red!”

“Louis,” Harry said sweetly, turning to face Louis completely. “Do you want to paint my bathroom?”

“Fuck off,” Louis grumbled. 

“You absolutely can if you want to.”

“How generous,” Louis said.

The underside of the sink was dark and grimy. Louis was trying to do everything with one hand while holding a flashlight in the other, and it wasn’t faring well.

“Come over here, will you?” Louis called over.

“I can’t imagine I’d be of much help in this area,” Harry said. He squatted next to Louis so that their knees were touching and it made Louis’ face warm.

“I just need you to hold the flashlight so I can tighten the bit in the back,” Louis said. Harry complied and Louis fixed the sink easily.

“All set,” Louis said, leaning back on his heels. 

“That’s it?” Harry asked. Louis reached up and turned on the sink and it worked flawlessly.

“That’s it.”

“Huh,” Harry mused, giving the sink a good look. “We make a pretty good team, you and me.”

Louis sighed and forced a smile. 

“Well,” Louis said and stood up. “Glad that’s taken care of.”

“Thank you,” Harry said with a big grin. Louis smiled back at him, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes.

“I’m meeting an old friend for lunch, so I’m gonna go clean up,” Louis said.

“You can get ready here if you’d like,” Harry said.

“No, don’t worry about it,” Louis said.

“Louis, the hotel is all the way across town. Get ready here.”

“I can’t shower in your bathroom. I’m afraid my brain might explode from too much visual stimulation,” Louis said. “I really should go.”

“Okay,” Harry said. The mood shifted and Harry could feel it.

“Enjoy your sink,” Louis said. 

“Thanks for doing that, Louis,” Harry said.

“No worries,” Louis said. They both lingered in the moment. Suddenly it became all too real to Louis that Harry could never be anything more than this. He felt embarrassed for how much he was giving into himself and his sick thoughts. He took in the sight of Harry: white undershirt and a pair of dungarees with his shoulder length hair that fell into soft waves. His eyes were tired after a long few days. Louis’ heart went soft when he looked at him. He looked at him and realized that whatever he was feeling and thinking about Harry needed to come to an end. He liked the way Harry was light and loose around him and the thought of making Harry uncomfortable or, hell, maybe even scared of Louis made Louis sick to his stomach.

“Well, I’ll be on my way,” Louis said, heading to the door. After a beat, Harry got to his feet and followed Louis.

“Wait, Louis,” Harry said, getting closer and putting a hand on Louis’ shoulder. Louis was so aware of Harry’s hand on his shoulder that it was as if it was burning Louis’ skin and melting his bones.

“Yes?” Louis asked, trying to be neutral.

“Are you sure you don’t want to paint my bathroom?” Harry asked.

Louis sighed and opened the front door. “You’re playing with me, Mr. Styles.”

“Pardon me,” Harry said with a grin. “It was never my intention.”

“Of course,” Louis said, descending into the hallway.

“Bye, Louis,” Harry said. Louis waved a hand and he was gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short chapter, little bees. Let me know what you think!  
> I'm @ unefleurharry.tumblr.com


	7. Chapter 7

Louis spent his days in the theater watching Harry rehearse with the rest of the cast. The lights were hot and the furnace kept the whole place toasty. Louis could see a sheen of sweat on Harry’s forehead that made him sparkle. 

Harry was marvelous. Every move he made and every word he spoke was gripping, yet effortless. Harry had just met these folk, yet Louis could feel the tension between him and the actor playing King Claudius— British actor, Simon Cowell. Not to mention, the practically tangible camaraderie between Harry and James Tapper, the young blond-haired, blue-eyed actor playing Horatio. They touched each other like they’d known each other for years and when Harry went off on one of his monologues, James would look at him with moons in his eyes. Louis thought that it was a bit much, but figured Jean-Claude knew what he was doing. 

Louis sat with his legs crossed at the knee toward the back of the theater with a newspaper in his lap. He ended up watching Harry over his spectacles more than he read. It was hard to look away. He was shining up there. Everyone else paled in comparison. Harry acted out his parts like it was Swan Lake and he was Odette. And after he delivered his lines flawlessly, his counter part, whichever subpar thespian that was up next to bat, would mumble their lines after stuttering a few times and prove to be inadequate. Louis shook his head, feeling secondhand embarrassment for anyone who had to go up against Harry. Jean-Claude let the cast go for a break, then Harry, young, exuberant boy he was, ran straight to Louis from the stage, taking a seat next to him.

“Well?” 

“You’re fantastic.”

“Really?” Harry asked with big eyes.

“Really.”

“You didn’t think that last scene was a bit clunky?”

“No, and if it was, then it wasn’t your fault. Rosencrantz up there looks like he’s never stepped on a stage before. It seems they’ve pulled from the local pool of dimwits.”

“Be nice,” Harry warned with a mischievous smile.

“To be fair, they’re not all local. They got a foreign dimwit in there as well to help balance things out.”

“He’s a real asshole, too,” Harry said in a hushed tone.

“How so?”

“First off, he tells his assistant to fetch him water like she’s a dog and he kept moaning to her about the heat, as if she has any control over it. He told Jean-Claude that he won’t work with Eileen unless she quits wearing perfume, and when he first got here, he walked over to me and said: ‘Bold statement hiring a lady for the lead.’”

“He said that to you?” Louis asked.

“Yes,” he laughed humorlessly.

“What the fuck?” Louis said and looked over at Simon. “Do you want me to say something?”

“I’m quite alright,” Harry said coolly.

“My apologies,” Louis held up his hands in surrender.

“I just don’t want to make a scene,” Harry said.

“I think that’s what they’re paying you for, though,” Louis said.

“Say you’ll leave him alone?” 

“Alright, alright,” Louis said dismissively. “I seem to have struck a nerve.”

“No, it’s just that this sort of thing happens all the time— people making comments about my hair. It doesn’t matter to me. I want to make it clear that I’m not telling you this in hopes that you’ll go, you know, go take care of him,” Harry said with air-quotes.

“Jesus, I was gonna go talk to him, not have him taken out.”

“What can I say? I don’t know what sort of affairs New York-Louis is engaged in,” Harry shrugged.

“You weren’t sure whether or not I was in the business of taking care of people?” Louis asked, mocking Harry’s air-quotes.

“You’re very unpredictable,” Harry said. Louis rolled his eyes and sat back in his chair.

“You’re ridiculous,” Louis pointed out. 

“Well,” Harry shrugged.

“I don’t have to talk to him directly to straighten things out, you know,” Louis said, picking his paper up and unfolding it.

“Would you like his agent’s number? The two of you can quarrel like the parents of a couple of school-girls,” Harry teased.

“I can talk to Jean-Claude,” Louis said.

“Louis,” Harry said. “I’m fine.”

“Okay,” Louis said simply. “But I want you to tell me if he says something like that to you again.”

“Okay,” Harry obliged.

“Harry!” James called over from the stage, with an unnecessarily big smile on his face. He was gesturing for Harry to come hither.

“Broadway’s calling,” Harry sang.

“Better answer.”

“Wish me luck,” Harry said.

“You don’t need it,” Louis said. Harry rolled his eyes, but he was positively glowing.

 

After a long day filled with many dramatic hours, Jean-Claude dismissed his cast and crew. Louis wandered down to the stage to meet up with Harry, who was being held up by his new acquaintance/cast-mate.

“I heard that you were from out of town so I wanted to invite you out for drinks, show you around the city a little bit,” James said. Louis glared at him with disgust.

“That’s very kind of you,” Harry said.

“What do you say?”

“Harry,” Louis called over, even though he was only a mere yard and a half away from him. “Should we be going?” He asked, as though he wasn’t privy to the exchange that was just going on.

“Yes,” Harry said, then looked back to James. “Thank you for the invitation. Some other time, definitely.”

“You know where to find me,” James smiled.

“Have a nice night,” Louis interjected, waved to James, and they were off.

“Hot date tonight?” Harry asked, as they walked out of the theater.

“No. What?” 

“You move with haste, Mr. Tomlinson.”

Louis slowed his stride and cleared his throat. Harry gave him a weird look.

“What’s gotten into you?”

“I suppose the cabin fever was getting to my head.”

“Did you not enjoy yourself?” Harry asked hesitantly, he looked like he was bracing himself.

“Oh, no, I did,” Louis assured him. “I really did. It was actually quite neat.”

“Really?” 

“Really. You’re very good, you know.”

Harry smiled at the ground.

“Maybe it’ll rub off on your new pals,” Louis said, subtly.

“Hey,” Harry nudged Louis’ side. “I told you to be nice.”

* * *

 

Harry worked his ass off. He was always a few minutes early to rehearsal, he knew his lines like the back of his hand, and he knocked it out of the park every time. It amazed Louis how when Jean-Claude called ‘action,’ something in Harry shifted and he became Hamlet. He even looked a little different. Harry gave it everything he had, and Louis was in the audience for all of it. Louis had made quite the nest for himself in the theater. He had his coffee, his paper, and a little light to make it easier for him to read, without being distracting. 

On this particular day, the cast was receiving their costumes and they were all backstage getting dressed, so Louis had no entertainment. There was some shuffling around on stage with the sets and the lights but for the most part it was pretty quiet and Louis was nodding off.

“Excuse me, Mr. Tomlinson?” A young woman asked. Louis twitched out of sleep and straightened up in his chair, clearing his throat.

“I’m sorry to wake you,” the woman said.

“No, no, I wasn’t…” he brushed her off.

“Mr. Styles is asking for you,” she said. Louis stood up and tucked his shirt in tighter.

“Why’s that?” He asked.

“I was just told to come find you,” she said and shrugged her shoulders.

Louis made his way to Harry’s tiny dressing room backstage, having to step over mountains of props and equipment to get through the small corridors.

Harry opened the door after one knock.

“Come in, come in,” he said hurriedly.

  “It’s like a fucking maze out there. I could’ve stepped over a dead body and I probably wouldn’t have known,” he said. He walked in and saw Harry standing with a pair of tights on and nothing else, his long arms crossed over his chest.

“Why aren’t you dressed?” Louis asked, trying really, really hard not check Harry out.

“It doesn’t fit right,” Harry said in an urgent tone.

“What do you mean?”

“The trousers aren’t long enough. Neither is the top,” Harry said.

“So it just needs to be hemmed?”

“The pants are tights around my hips as well.”

“Didn’t they take your measurements?”

“Yes, but they must have made a mistake,” Harry said.

“Are you sure it’s yours?” Louis asked. Harry scampered over and grabbed the get up and handed it to Louis, his thumb on the tag that read: _Harry Styles - Hamlet._

“What do I do?” Harry asked.

“Get dressed and I’ll take it to Jean-Claude,” Louis said.

“But then I’ll be the only one out there who isn’t in costume.”

“Harry, if it doesn’t fit, it doesn’t fit. It shouldn’t be a big deal, the play isn’t for a few weeks,” Louis said. Harry looked at Louis with big, worried eyes. 

“What’s wrong?” Louis asked.

“This is bad, Louis,” Harry said.

“Harry,” Louis laughed. “I’ll hand it over, they’ll realized that they messed up, they’ll fix it, and you’ll be fine. There’s nothing to worry about.”

“Maybe it’s my fault,” Harry said.

“Have you gotten taller in the last three weeks? Because if so, then you’ll have to tell me what kind  of milk you’ve been drinking.”

“What if it doesn’t work out?”

“Harry,” Louis said softly, trying to calm him down. “You’re freaking out and there’s no reason for it. It’s a small mistake on the seamstress’ part. We’ll have it fixed and back to you in no time. Get dressed and I’ll take care of this.”

“Okay,” Harry said.

“Okay,” Louis said, heading to the door with the costume in hand.

“Oh and Harry,” Louis said with his hand on the door knob. Harry looked up at him.

“Nice tights,” Louis teased.

“Fuck off,” Harry grumbled.

“There he is,” Louis said and shut the door behind him.

He made his way out of the true seedy underbelly of New York, otherwise known as the backstage, and found Jean-Claude.

“Pardon me, Jean-Claude?” Louis asked, interrupting a conversation between him and one of the stage hands.

“Ah, Louis,” Jean-Claude said and turned his attention over to him. “What is this?” He asked looking at the costume.

“Harry’s costume. It doesn’t fit properly,” he said quietly.

“What?”

“Harry’s costume. There’s been a mistake and it doesn’t fit.”

“It doesn’t fit?” He asked, his eyes looked tired.

“No. The material is still intact so you won’t have to completely scrap it, but I would throw away the old measurements you have and have someone redo them.”

“The whole thing?” He asked absentmindedly, but he looked like he was deep in thought.

“It shouldn’t be a big deal,” Louis said.

“Mrs. Celine, who does all of our alterations, had a heart attack yesterday,” Jean-Claude said quietly.

“Oh my,” Louis said. “Is she alright?”

“The point is that I was hoping that there wouldn’t be any errors,” his voice trailed off as he stared at the costume. “I don’t know what to do.”

“Wow,” Louis said, taking a step back and scouring his brain for a solution. “How about you let me take a crack at it.”

“You know how to alter costumes?”

“No, but there’s a little shop in Brooklyn that I’ve gone to for years. It’s a great little place, I know the owners and they’ve done costumes in the past. Let me take it to them and see what they can do.”

“But we don’t have a lot of time,” he said.

“I’ll take it there tonight. I’ll fill them in on the dates that we’re working with and ask if they can make it work.”

“And if they can’t?”

“Then we’ll figure it out,” he said simply. 

Jean-Claude grumbled something, pulled out a cigarette, and walked away. Louis found a telephone directory and called the shop. They said they would take a look at the costume when he got there, but that it shouldn’t be a problem.

 

After Jean-Claude dismissed the cast and crew, Louis made his way backstage to find Harry. He squirmed through people until he reached a wall and then he scanned the room looking for the curly-haired boy. He finally caught sight of him, semi-hidden by a random curtain, sitting on a milk crate, folded over with his head in his hands.

“Hey,” Louis said when he got closer. Harry looked up, and Louis could see how tired he was.

“Hey,” Harry said.

“I talked to Jean-Claude and told him that I could bring your costume to a seamstress I know over in Brooklyn.”

“What about Mrs. Celine?”

“Something came up and she can’t do it,” Louis said, glossing over the truth. “Mrs. Hubert at my place in Brooklyn said she can help, but we need to get it to her as soon as possible, so I told her we’d be there tonight.”

“Oh,” Harry said, with heavy eyelids.

“I’m sorry, Harry,” Louis said, feeling his heart being tugged at.

“For what?”

“I’m sure we’ll be in and out of there in no time.”

“Okay,” Harry nodded. “Let me get my stuff and I’ll meet you out front.”

Louis nodded and headed out. Harry sighed and squeezed his eyes shut then got up and gathered his belongings. 

* * *

 

“Wait,” Harry stopped suddenly in the street, the store sign in view. “You didn’t tell me it was sew like S-E-W.”

“What?” Louis asked, in the cold dark street at 9:30 PM with, what felt like, a small rock in his shoe.

“I though it was ‘So Many Clothes,’ like S-O. Not S-E-W.”

“What the fuck are you talking about?” Louis asked.

“It’s a brilliant name!” Harry was very pleased. Louis stared at him for a moment.

“Can we go in now?”

“Yes,” Harry said and they continued on.

 

 

After squeezing and squirming through narrow, frilly halls and randomly placed sets of stairs, they found the platform surrounded by mirrors where Mrs. Hubert had clients stand on while she ‘worked her magic.’ Harry was a trooper and stood completely still for a long time while Mrs. Hubert poked and prodded and measured and pinned. He even listened intently to Mrs. Hubert’s account of her long day.

“You boys hungry?” She asked when they were finished up.

“No, we’re fine.”

“We’ve got leftovers, Lou. Let me make you a plate, you can take it with you.”

“That’s alright, Mrs. Hubert. Don’t worry about it,” Louis insisted.

“You said you were in a rush. When did you get a chance to eat?”

“Earlier.”

“Louis Tomlinson, don’t think that just because you’re all grown up it means that I’m not going to take care of you. Got it? I promised your mother back when you were born,” she said and winked at Louis.

“Thank you, darling,” he said softly and kissed her cheek.

“I’ll see you on Monday?”

“See you on Monday,” he said and looked over at Harry who was practically falling asleep leaning on the front door.

“Get him home,” she said waving them off.

“Harry,” Louis said and Harry’s head shot up.

“What?” He asked and Louis couldn’t help but smile.

“Ready to go?” Louis asked. Harry nodded and straightened up.

“Thank you, Mrs. Hubert,” Harry called over.

“Sure thing, doll.”

“It’s been _sew_ much fun,” he said with a satisfied smile. “S-E-W,” he explained.

“Uh huh,” Mrs. Hubert cringed.

“Let’s go,” Louis said awkwardly and guided Harry outside.

“What’s wrong with you?” Louis asked.

“Everyone is so stiff here,” Harry grumbled.

“No one in California laughs at your jokes either.”

 

Harry nearly fell asleep during the cab ride back. Louis felt sorry for the kid. He gave it his all and he was exhausted.

“We’ve arrived,” Louis whispered to Harry who was only ‘resting his eyes.’ Harry hummed. The static of the radio seemingly ebbed and flowed with the breeze. The street light outside of Harry’s building made the sidewalk look yellow. Harry’s eyes fluttered open and he looked over at Louis and gave an exaggerated sigh. Louis smiled.

“Today was long,” Louis said and Harry slowly nodded.

“You’re doing well,” Louis said. Harry grinned and rolled his eyes.

“Thanks, dad,” he said.

“I’m serious.” Harry blushed and smiled at his feet.

“Don’t stroke my ego too much, Louis.”

“You’ll spiral out of control, won’t you?”

“My way or the highway, pal.”

“You weren’t that good, don’t worry.”

“Lovely,” Harry said and got out of the car. “I’ll see you tomorrow?”

“Take the weekend off,” Louis brushed him off. “You need a break.”

“Don’t be silly. Would you like to meet for lunch? We can walk around the Met,” Harry offered with bouncy eyebrows. 

“Again?” Louis whined.

“Oye, again with the Met!” Harry said with a lousy New York-Jew accent.

“Oh my god. Go to bed.”

“Tomorrow then?”

“Rest, Harry. I’ll see you on Monday,” Louis said.

“I get restless when I’m left alone too long. Like a puppy.”

“Treat it like a practice run for when after I leave in January.”

“Are you trying to break my heart?” Harry asked and clutched at his chest. Louis rolled his eyes trying not to melt into a blob of giggles and butterflies.

“Goodnight, Harry.”

“Goodnight,” Harry said. Louis nodded and watched Harry leave. A fleeting glimpse of an alternate reality ran through his head where he would jump out of the car and follow Harry upstairs. They would talk and laugh and it’d be lovely. Louis couldn’t shake the thought.  It remained at the front of his mind as he laid in bed, sleepless. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know what you think! <3


	8. Chapter 8

It was the day before opening night and the cast was working their asses off. They worked relentlessly and, while Jean-Claude would disagree, it was turning out to be a fantastic production. Jean-Claude released them at ten o’clock and, because Louis valued his limbs and his sanity, he decided to wait in the lobby for Harry instead of attempting to tackle the backstage. He watched person after person trickle out and after a while he took a seat on the floor against the wall. Harry was one of the last people to wander out, his jacket hanging loose in his hand and his hair falling flat. With a defeated look on his face, he went over to take a seat next to Louis.

“Hey, you,” Louis said. Harry hit the floor with a thump and leaned his head against the wall.

“I’m tired.”

“I can imagine.”

They sat in silence for a moment before Harry dropped his head in his hands, running his fingers through his hair.

“You alright?”

“I don’t know,” Harry said.

“Hey,” Louis said, craning his neck to meet Harry’s face. “What is it?”

“I don’t know. I don’t know why I feel like this.”

“Feel like what?”

“I don’t know, something just doesn’t feel right.”

“What doesn’t feel right?”

“This should be the best moment of my life. I’m going to be on Broadway. I mean— I’m the lead. I’m Hamlet. I should be ecstatic. But I’m not, I— I can’t. I don’t feel it.”

Louis just watched Harry’s face turn as a tear rolled down his face.

“Fuck, what’s wrong with me?”

“Harry,” Louis turned to face Harry completely.

Harry looked at him with heavy, red, glassy eyes.

“There is nothing wrong with you. You’re exhausted. You’ve been working extremely long days, after all. You can’t be so hard on yourself. This was all just a dream before. Now it’s real and you’re living it and it’s not easy. But trust me, Harry, it’ll be worth it.”

“I can’t help but think this was a mistake,” Harry admitted.

“Why?”

“It just feels like it.”

“Well, for what it’s worth, I disagree,” Louis said. 

“You’re being paid to say that,” Harry muttered and looked to the wall at his right, blinking away tears forming in his eyes.

Louis just looked at him for a moment. 

“You don’t really believe that, do you?” Louis asked.

“I don’t know. Sometimes,” he said, then turning his eyes to the floor.

“Well, then you’ve proved my point that the exhaustion is seeping into your brain and making you delusional.”

“But—”

“No. Harry. When you go on stage, it’s—,” he shook his head, “you’re great. You’re really fucking talented and you work so hard. It’s gonna be incredible. You’re gonna have their hearts in your hand. I wouldn’t waste my time on something I didn’t believe in and I believe in you, I do.”

Harry was blushing, a small, shy smile peeking through. 

“Ever get tired of being my cheerleader?” Harry asked, wiping his eyes. Louis smiled.

“Bit embarrassing— unravelling on the floor like this,” Harry commented, with his head in his hands.

“It’s showbiz. Hearts get broken, life goes on, they all know that,” Louis said nonchalantly.

“I wish I had your brain.”

“Oh,” Louis said giving him a crooked look. “I’m not sure if I should be flattered or terrified.”

“You know what I mean. I wish I thought like you.”

Louis laughed humorlessly. If only he knew, in actuality, how much he really didn’t want that.

“You’re doing fine,” Louis assured him. “You’re doing so well.”

“Thank you, Lou.”

“Of course.”

Harry smiled at him with sad eyes. Louis’ heart sank. He exhaled and took it in stride.

“I don’t know about you, but I am starving,” Louis said.

“You have no idea,” Harry sighed.

Louis got to his feet and reached out his hand. Harry took it.

 

* * *

 

 

The theater doors opened like floodgates at 7:30 for the 8 o’clock show and a swarm of buzzing people brought the place to life. The energy was charged and Louis could feel the vibrations in his bones as he squirmed through people trying to get backstage. 

“No,” a girl said, she stood blocking the entrance to the backstage corridor. Louis came to a holt.

“Excuse me?”

“No more people are allowed back here. Jean-Claude’s orders.”

“I’m Harry’s manager.”

She wasn’t fazed.

“Harry Styles.”

Nothing.

“Hamlet,” Louis tried one last time.

“No one,” she reiterated. 

“I was back there just a moment ago. Please.”

“I’m sure.”

“Are you joking? I sat in this audience for every rehearsal. Please, I need to see Harry.”

“I’m sorry,” she wasn’t budging.

“I can tell. Harry!” He yelled over her shoulder.

“Excuse me, sir!”

“Doll, I get it, I do, but this is ridiculous. Harry!”

“You cannot be making a scene here!”

“I wouldn’t have to if you would let me go see him. Harry!”

“Sir!”

“Louis?” James. Perfect.

“Hello,” Louis said with an irritated tone.

“Is there a problem?” He asked with a super duper sweet voice.

“Everything’s peachy. Harry!” He yelled.

“Do you need Harry?” He asked. Boy, this kid was a gem.

“The company sure is lucky to have you, James. Harry!” He yelled louder.

Harry’s head popped out from around the corner.

“What’s going on?”

“Would you tell this lovely woman that I’m your manager, please.”

“He’s with me,” he said to the lady.

She clenched her jaw and turned her cheek.

“Lovely chatting with you, doll,” he skirted around her.

“Hey,” Harry said.

“Hey, how are you feeling? Feeling good?” Louis asked.

“I’m a little nervous,” he admitted.

“Don’t be, Harry. You’re going to be fantastic,” James said. Why was he still standing there?

“Thank you,” Harry said and smiled sweetly. 

“Ok, that’s great. Can we go back to your dressing room?” Louis asked.

“Sure,” Harry said. 

“See you out there,” James said, giving Harry a little wave.

“Bye, James!” Louis sang.

“Are you alright?” Harry asked in a hushed tone on their way back.

“Fine, why?” 

“No reason,” Harry smirked to himself.

Louis shut the dressing room door behind him.

“Okay,” Louis said and turned to face him. “Are you alright? How are you doing?”

“Honestly?” Harry asked, sitting on the trunk in the corner of the tiny room.

“I’d settle for nothing less.”

“I’m freaking out, Lou.”

“Harry,” Louis said, squatting in front of him so that they were level. “You’re going to do so well.”

“But what if I don’t?”

“Then, fuck ‘em.”

“Louis,” Harry whined a laugh.

“I’m serious. What’s the worst that can happen?”

“I could forget all my lines and ruin the whole thing.”

“Has that every happened before?”

“No, but I’ve never been in front of an audience like that before.”

“Well, worst case scenario: you forget all your lines, you fall on your face, you— you stand in front of the whole theater just frozen—”

“Louis.”

“Bare with me,” Louis said. “The whole thing is a total disaster. Then what? It’s not like they can hurt you, they can’t take away your birthday, they won’t follow you back to California and ridicule you everyday for the rest of your life. If it’s awful, then we deal with it. If you fail tonight, then fine. But you— you, who as worked your ass off, are by no means a failure. No matter how bad you could possibly fuck it up. If you fuck up, you fuck up.”

“What if it ruins my career?”

“It won’t ruin your career. Michael Franz fucked his director’s daughter and then showed up at his party, completely inebriated, and guess what? He was just hired for a part in a Hitchcock film.”

“So your point is that Michael Franz can get a role in a Hitchcock picture, but I can’t?”

“You know what, I didn’t think about how that could be interpreted. Listen. Harry. You’re the boy that’ll take Hollywood by storm! You’re electric! You’re fantastic! Even James thinks so, for whatever that’s worth.”

“What’s your problem with him, anyway?”

“He’s an idiot! But that’s not the issue right now. The issue is that you are the only person here that doesn’t think you can do it. Trust me. You trust me right?”

Harry looked at him with big raw eyes. “Yes.”

“Good,” Louis said and couldn’t hold back his smile. “I wouldn’t let you go out there if I didn’t think you were ready.”

“Harry,” Jean-Claude stuck his head into the room. “I need you to come now, s'il te plaît.”

“One second,” Louis said. “He’s coming.”

“No. Now.”

“Just one second, Jean-Claude, and he’ll be right out.”

He looked beyond irritated, a look that they had all gotten use to.

“Please hurry,” he snapped then shut the door. Louis turned back to Harry with a soft look on his face.

“Broadway’s calling, kid.” 

“I hate it when you call me that,” Harry said grumbled.

“Pardon me. Mr. Styles, your audience awaits.”

“I’m scared, Lou,” he said quietly.

“I know,” Louis said. “But, you’re going to be great.”

“Do you really think that?”

“No question,” Louis said easily.

Harry sighed a shaky breath.

“But, if I don’t bring you to Jean-Claude right now, he might murder me with his little French hands.”

“Okay,” Harry said. “Thank you, Louis. Really.”

“Of course,” Louis smiled at him. 

 

* * *

 

The lights went down and the audience faded into silence. Louis folded his hopelessly shaky hands in his lap, and took a deep breath. The curtains opened and there was James, lovely. The first scene played out and, with every word, Louis’ heart beat grew more erratic, knowing it was a matter of seconds that Harry would appear. Louis knew Harry was prepared, but what if Harry froze? What if he cracked under the spotlight? Truth was, Louis hadn’t ever seen Harry perform. What if Harry was right, and he wasn’t ready? The scene was closing and Louis’ breath caught in his chest.

After a moment, that seemingly stretched for an eternity, Harry came out. Brooding, dark, and boiling inside. He was doing it. Louis’ pride was inflating inside of him like a balloon, nearly making him burst. He would get close to Simon, with this slightly maniacal look in his eye, leaving you not knowing if he was going to stroke his cheek or grab his neck to strangle him. James looked like he was going to fall over dizzy with love every time Harry spoke. It was happening. They were doing it. 

He willed himself to watch it all play out with virgin eyes, to see what the rest of the audience saw when they looked up at Harry, wide open and brutally raw. He wondered if it was at all possible that they didn’t see what Louis saw. But he knew it wasn’t possible. Harry was breathtaking. And judging by the sight of all the many eyes glued to his every move, Louis knew that they were right there with him.

 

* * *

 

Through an eruption of applause and whistling, Louis shoved through the people with a stupid grin on his face.

Harry stood next to the rest of the cast with a blank look on his face as folks dressed to the nines showered him, seemingly more than the rest of the cast, with congratulations and praise, all reaching to shake his hand and pat his back. 

“Harry!” Louis called over the swarm of people barricading him. Harry looked around trying to find where the voice came from.

Louis slipped through the people and ended up tripping into Harry’s person.

“Sorry,” Louis mumbled, trying to find his footing as Harry held his shoulders in place to balance him.

“Louis,” Harry said in a daze.

“Harry,” Louis shook his head with pride, relief, and, above all, amazement. “Harry. That was— that was incredible.” He embraced Harry and pat his back, but he noticed Harry leaned into it and sort of buried his face in the crook of Louis’ neck. Louis pulled away reflexively. Harry was looking anywhere but Louis’ eyes and cleared his throat.

“You liked it?” He asked over the buzz of the chatter of all the people.

“Yes,” Louis brushed off that strange moment. “Yes. It was fantastic!”

“Yeah?” Harry asked eagerly.

“Yeah,” He replied, smiling with pure joy. Louis saw, over Harry’s shoulder, James and, who he assumed to be, James’ parents kissing him and giving him obscene bouquets of flowers. He then looked over at Simon with his wife hanging all over him. Jean-Claude and Madam Jureau being embraced by an older couple, who must’ve been one of their parents. Judging by the beautiful woman who eerily resembled Madam Jureua, he assumed they were her folks. Louis looked back at Harry, young and bright, without anyone to bring him flowers, without anyone to kiss his cheek, and he felt a wave of melancholy wash over him. He swallowed it and squeezed Harry’s shoulder.

“Let’s celebrate,” he said.

“And what do you propose?”

“Let’s go out! Let’s go dancing, do you like dancing?”

“I like dancing,” Harry nodded earnestly.

“I know a great place. Go get changed and I’ll take you there.”

“Okay,” Harry said and hurried to his dressing room. 

“Jean-Claude,” Louis called over and caught his eye.

“Louis,” he waved to him. Louis walked over and reached out to shake his hand.

“Ah, Louis, please,” Madam Jureau interjected, embracing Louis and kissing his cheeks. “We are French, no?”

“Yes, you are,” Louis confirmed awkwardly. Jean-Claude hugged Louis after she did and then held him at arms length with his hands on Louis’ shoulders.

“He was fantastic!” Jean-Claude said, squeezing his shoulders. He was beaming.

“He was,” Louis agreed. “The whole production was spectacular, Jean-Claude. Congratulations.”

“Thank you, Louis!” He said in a frighteningly cheery voice, then let go to shake his hand firmly.

“Okay,” Louis said, feeling a bit uncomfortable. 

 

Louis waited, eagerly, for Harry in the lobby of the theater. He felt an overwhelming urge to give Harry all the praise in the world. He was bubbling with joy as he waited for Harry to come out. It felt like it took centuries for him to finally make it out, but when he did, dear Lord, he did.

He came out in an all-white suit that fit him perfectly, for a change, and his curls were shiny and tame. He was glowing. Louis felt his cheeks get warm at the sight of him.

“You ready?” He croaked out.

“Take me away, Lou,” Harry said grandly with a cheeky grin. God, Louis was in trouble.

 

A cab took them to a hopping club on the upper west side that was run by the mafia, not to say that that was a selling point. However, it was regarded as the best club around and Harry deserved the best.

“Fancy,” Harry said in Louis’ ear as they climbed out of the car. Louis practically purred.

“Yeah,” he laughed it off.

They walked into the shiny, massive club and it was like stepping into a new world. Light reflected off of the dresses, the jewelry, and the chandeliers, making the whole joint sparkle. A young, thin girl was on stage singing Jeepers Creepers with a smooth voice while the band behind her bopped out a funky rendition of the tune, heavy on the percussion, giving way for the elites to dance like there was no tomorrow. It reminded him of when the war ended two years prior and the streets were pulsating with celebration. Except this was just a Friday night.

“Wow,” Harry said, taking in the sight. California had nothing on the New York club scene.

“Quite something, isn’t it,” Louis mused as they made their way to the bar.

“I’ll say.”

Louis ordered them two shots. Harry downed his with a whistle and a pained look on his face.

“No?” Louis asked, trying to hide his smile.

“It burns.”

“Well, I figured you could take it.”

“I took it,” he said blinking his watery eyes and looking around at the room, a flush creeping up his neck. Louis downed his with a howl and ordered another. Harry abstained.

“How do you feel?” Louis asked.

“Like I’m flying.”

“You did it, Harry,” Louis said, shaking his head in amazement.   

“I did,” he replied with a dopey smile. 

Louis felt a tap on his shoulder and when he turned around he saw a busty blonde girl with bright magenta lips. “Hi, sweetheart.”

“Hello,” Louis said. 

“You got a cigarette on you?” 

Louis nodded, a little dazed himself, and pulled one out of his breast pocket.

“Where’s your girlfriend?” She asked, as he lit her cigarette.

“No girlfriend, I’m here with my friend. We’re celebrating.”

“Oh, how nice. What’s the occasion?”

“You’re looking at the newest Hamlet on Broadway,” he said, turning around and squeezing Harry’s shoulder.

“No kidding,” the woman said with an impressed smile. “Congratulations, sugar.”

“Thank you.”

“You look kinda young to be playing Hamlet.”

“Is that right?” Harry deadpanned, then ordered himself another shot.

“I thought you didn’t like it,” he said in a hushed tone.

“Well, I’m full of surprises,” he said and knocked back the shot, leaving him in a coughing fit.

“Fuck,” he muttered with tears welling in his eyes.

“Jesus, you okay?” The woman asked.

“Yes.” 

“Are you even old enough to drink?”

Harry blinked at her then looked at Louis.

“I wanna dance,” he said. 

“I’d love to dance,” the woman said, putting her hand on Louis’ thigh.

Harry stood up and put his hand on Louis’ shoulder.

“Come on,” he said as if the woman wasn’t even there.

Louis wasn’t really sure how to proceed, so he sort of smiled at the woman and then followed Harry with no explanation.

They were swinging and twirling with the room, sweat dampening their foreheads. Harry was smooth and Louis was tipsy, smiling from ear to ear, watching him go. They danced for a solid three songs before Louis had to tap out.

“We don’t all have the stamina of an eighteen year old,” Louis said, retiring to a booth tucked away in the corner of the club.

“You’re twenty-two,” Harry said, unimpressed.

“Not for long,” Louis said, starting on another drink.

“Really?” Harry sang.

“Really.”

“Come on then, when’s the big day?”

“The 24th.”

“A Christmas Eve baby,” Harry smiled. “How nice.”

Louis drank to that. Harry sat back with a big smile.

“What’s on your mind?” Louis asked. Harry shook his head.

“I’m just happy.”

“You should be,” Louis said. Harry turned his face toward Louis. He looked at peace. Louis’ heart was aching a bit in his chest.

“Hey, Harry,” Louis said changing his tone slightly and shifting in seat. “Where’s your family?”

Harry stared at him at him for a moment, then shrugged with a humorless smile.

“Do they know about tonight?”

“Nope,” Harry said and moved his eyes to the ceiling. “I don’t think so.”

“Can I ask why you haven’t told them?”

“I don’t really want to talk about it,” Harry said. 

“Alright,” Louis nodded.

“I’m gonna get more drinks,” Harry said and clapped his hands together.

“Can you handle it?”

“Of course,” Harry said, waving him off.

One round of drinks turned into two and then three, and they were pretty drunk.

“I’m beat,” Harry said

“Me too,” Louis said.

“Can you take me home?”

“Yes,” Louis said without hesitation.

 

* * *

 

They got in a cab and watched the city go by. Everything looked different somehow, liquid-y and surreal. Harry spent a lot of the car ride looking at Louis, and Louis’ neck was hot from Harry’s eyes burning holes into his skin, he pretended he didn’t notice. Getting out of the car was— fine-ish, but the seven flights of stairs ahead of them posed a few issues.

“Alright,” Harry said, lacing his arm with Louis’, facing the daunting stairs. The warmth of Harry made Louis’ eyelids heavy, he wanted to melt into the touch. 

“We can do it,” Harry said like it was no feat whatsoever.  

“Ambitious, aren’t we?”

“I suppose I am feeling a bit ambitious this evening.”

They managed up four stairs before Harry stopped and took a seat on a step refusing to go any further. 

“Get up.”

“I can’t.”

“Harry. Get up.”

He just shook his head in defeat.

“What happened to the ambition?”

“I lost it.”

“Come on, Harry, get up.”

“No, I can’t.”

“You have to, I need to pee.”

“Louis,” Harry looked at him. “I’m sorry, but I can’t.”

“Come on,” Louis whined a laugh.

“Sit with me.”

“No.”

“Come on, please,” Harry insisted, patting the step beside him.

“No.”

“Louis.”

“Harry.”

“Louis!”

“What?”

Harry paused for a moment. “I can’t remember.”

Louis eventually got him up and they made it to the top. After they made it in and shut the door, Harry turned to Louis with a wide eyed smile, exclaiming, “We did it!” and gave him a high five.

“I hope you enjoyed yourself tonight, because you’re not allowed to drink ever again,” Louis said, running to the bathroom, tossing his jacket blindly.

“Jesus Christ!” Louis yelled from the bathroom.

Harry’s face lit up with concern,“What’s wrong?”

“It looks like someone vomited blood all over the walls.”

“What? What are you on about?”

“This god-awful red. It’s quite horrific.”

“Louis! For Christ’s sake, I thought you were in trouble!”

“What kind of trouble would I be in?” He asked, his voice muffled from the door between them.

“I don’t know, suppose you had a stroke or something. Maybe a murderer was in there.”

“I’d welcome him with open arms. This red has me a tad suicidal.”

Harry grumbled as he walked into the living room. He turned on the dim floor lamp and took off his jacket before collapsing onto the sofa. He let out a sigh, unable to contain the smile lighting up his face. His body was sore and tired, in the best way possible. 

Louis came out of the bathroom, finding Harry sprawled out on the sofa.

“Better?” Harry asked, his eyes looking no where but Louis.

“Better.” Louis just stood there. Harry looked so relaxed and sweet. There was a warm ghost of where Harry touched Louis when they got out of the cab. He felt a gravitational tug pulling him toward Harry, but by now, at the age of twenty two, he knew better than to trust his emotional instincts. He never indulge his animalistic urges. Though to be fair, it was never this difficult.

“Good,” Harry said.

Louis stalled, holding himself rigid.

“Louis,” Harry said. 

“Yes?” 

“You alright?”

“Yes,” Louis lied.

“Why are you just standing there?” Harry gave him a careful smile.

“I don’t know.” He knew it was time for him to go.

“You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

“I need to go home, I think.”

“Why?”

“I’m not feeling well.”

“What’s the matter?”

“I’m… just feeling ill,” his voice was terribly weak.

“You can lay down if you’d like.”

“No.”

“Okay,” Harry said, giving him a funny look. “Why are you acting weird?”

“I’m not acting weird,” Louis said abruptly. He was trying to be neutral and normal, but he could feel that his eyes were big like a scared deer.

“You’re kind of acting weird.”

“No, I just need to go.”

“You’re drunk, go home in the morning,” Harry said easily.

“I’m not that drunk,” he said. Which was, in fact, not a true statement..

“It’s the middle of the night,” Harry said, standing up. “Sleep it off. I’ll leave you alone, I promise.”

“I want to go home,” he said firmly. The mood suddenly shifted and Harry’s smile drifted off his lips.

“Okay.”

“Okay,” Louis said, looking for his jacket.

“Did something happen?” Harry asked.

“No, I just don’t feel well.”

“Is it the red? Is it really that bad?”

“No, it’s not the red.”

“Then what is it? I thought we were having a great—”

“Nothing! I just want to go home because I feel sick,” Louis snapped, still looking for his jacket. “Where the fuck is it?!”

“Where the fuck is what?”

“My jacket!”

Harry looked around and found it behind the old dusty chair in the corner.

  “Here,” Harry held it out, then, just before Louis grabbed it, he pulled it back toward him.

“I’ll give it to you when you tell me why you’re being a dick.”

“I’m not being a dick.”

“Louis,” Harry said, and gave him a look like the next words out of his mouth were going to be, ‘Come on. You’re being a dick.’

“I’m not being a dick! God, why can’t you just let me go home!”

“We were having such a lovely night, what happened?”

Louis ached. “I don’t know. I just want to go.”

“Did I do something wrong?”

“No,” Louis answered, trying very hard to be normal, as if Harry would figure it all out from his face if he wasn’t too careful.

“Cut the bullshit, what’s wrong?”

“Oh my God!” Louis yelled. “Nothing!”

“When did you get so dramatic?”

“When did you get so relentless? Would you let me go home!”

The soft concerned look fell from Harry’s face and it was as if Louis could actually see Harry’s warm energy, the energy that Louis had grown so fond of, being sucked back inside of him. This open book of a boy close right up. He handed the jacket to Louis.

“Thanks,” Louis muttered and grabbed it, walking toward the door. 

“Goodnight,” Louis said cooly. Harry huffed a laugh.

“Yeah, you too,” he said, before closing the door behind Louis.

The sound of the door being shut slowed Louis’s strides and he quickly lost steam. His knees became weak, the force from the look on Harry’s face caught up with him, ringing in his ears and knocking the wind out of him, bringing him to sit on one of the steps. Unease swirled in his stomach like a washing machine and he squeezed his throbbing head, attempting to relieve some of the pressure. 

All Louis’ life he secretly, quietly tried to figure out his heart. At thirteen and fourteen, when his friends started taking an interest in girls, he figured he was a late bloomer. He hadn’t even hit his growth spurt yet, after all. But then fifteen rolled around, and sixteen, and seventeen, and he just didn’t feel it. He thought he was broken. But, it was not as if he didn’t think about love. He did. He wanted it. Sometimes, he craved it badly. He wanted a pure, sweet love. There was a void in his life, a blank space waiting for, he assumed, a woman to fill it. But as he got older, it became more and more apparent that there was no woman who could fill it. He had never once in his life dated a girl that made him feel whole. There was a never a girl that he wanted to show off to the world. There was never a girl that he really wanted to touch. He never dated a girl that made his stomach flutter the way it did when he saw Robert Taylor in _Camille_ for the first time. He kept a picture of him hidden in his copy of _The Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde_ , between pages 28 and 29. He’d pull it out at night and stare at it using the light from the streetlamp and the moon pouring through his bedroom window to see it properly. It was shameful and he knew it; but at night, when the world was asleep, the streets were quiet, and Charlotte’s music box was softly playing from the room next door, just a hair louder than the sound of his dad’s snores, he’d indulge the urge, the tingly sensation in the pit of his stomach and the lurch of his heart, that begged him to peek at the picture. He’d stare at him for a long time, wondering what it would feel like to be held by him, imagining a scenario where they met at a Parisian party. In his dreams, Armand would stare at Louis with that earnest smile of his. Louis thought about his mouth, his eyes, his hands, his legs, it consumed his innocent mind. He didn’t understand why he was thinking those thoughts. He would be in the middle of spelling class and his mind would begin to wander to the image of Armand’s strong hands handing over to Marguerite, his forbidden love, her pretty little handkerchief and the way his lips would move as he told her about the beautiful girl who lived for love and pleasure in _Manon Lescaut_ , then suddenly his face would get hot and he’d feel deeply embarrassed. He would look around and genuinely worry that some of his peers were able to read minds. As a young boy, he didn’t understand what he was feeling or why he was feeling it, then when he got a bit older, while he still didn’t understand, he worked regularly to suppress his thoughts. He wouldn’t let himself think in that way. He’d feel his stomach tug when he saw a pretty boy or when he would be talking to a gentleman, but he wouldn’t let himself think any more of it. Though no matter how hard he tried, he would never be able to escape his heart. He couldn’t ever forget the truth. And the truth was, he had been dreaming up someone like Harry all his life. Though Harry was better than any fantasy his thirteen year old self could’ve conjured up. He couldn’t help it— he didn’t make his heart. 

He was headed down a bad path. And he couldn’t let that happen. No one knew the truth, and that could never change.

He stood up and wiped his face. His skin was hot beneath his suit. He wanted, more than anything, to get home and take the monkey suit off and go to sleep, for in the unconscious hours of sleep, his mind couldn’t torture him. In his dreams, and only his dreams, he was free. 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hiya babes! Let me know what you think! <3


	9. Chapter 9

Louis feels uncomfortably hot as he walks down the stairs from Harry’s apartment. His shirt is clinging to the sweaty skin of the small of his back and his face feels so warm that he is afraid he might faint. He stumbles out of the building door, then stands still on the sidewalk. 

It is a cold winter night. The elements are harsh. The light from the streetlamp is a stark contrast to the black sky. The wind didn’t whisper in your ear or tickle your cheek— it slapped you mean. The rowdy, underage greasers didn’t drop their beer cans in the bin, they crushed them against their skulls. The people don’t hum as they walk down the street, the scream at each other. They scream with those god-awful accents.

Louis walks down the street with his collar turned up and a scowl on his face. He fucking hates New York. He isn’t very drunk anymore. Only a little, and it’s the bad kind of drunk. Something, he doesn’t know what exactly, is bubbling inside of him. He smokes a cigarette and coughs violently. He feels miserable, but he knows that he can’t go home yet. He knows that if he stops moving, his hopeless thoughts will fill every pore and corner of his world. He kept walking so he wouldn’t do something stupid. Like jump out a window or kiss Harry on the mouth or something. While his walk stirs anger for the grimy city that he was forced to return to and hatred for the uncouth bastards he grew up with and was meeting once again, it is all at the forefront of his mind. Not Harry. At this point, that’s all that matters. He just wants to get away from Harry.

Speaking of the bastards he grew up with. Louis lifts his face with a look in his eye like he had just remembered that he left the house without turning the stove off. He picks up his speed and runs down the street to the nearest payphone. He gets in the booth and fishes through his pockets, but they’re empty. Of course they’re empty, why would he bring a pocketful of change to a Broadway show. Hamlet. It feels like it’s been years since Harry was up on that stage. He does have four dollars, though.

He takes his four dollars and goes to Bertie’s, a dingy, dark joint that used to serve him alcohol at fifteen, and he was little for fifteen— they may as well have poured the drinks with one hand and covered their eyes with the other. 

He walks into the cesspool and heads straight for the bar.

“I need some change,” he slams a dollar on the bar.

“Quiet down, pal,” some schmuck at the bar says. He didn’t know which one. It was so damn dark.

“I’ll do what I please,” he replies. 

“What the fuck you say to me?” A man with a swollen face was suddenly standing in front of him.

“Sit down, John,” the bartender said.

“I said I will do what I fucking please.”

“You better please to sit down.”

“What a way with words. Your ma must be proud as hell.”

“Who the fuck—”

“Here, let me get you your change,” the bartender taps Louis shoulder. “We don’t want any trouble here.”

“I don’t want trouble, either,” Louis said, a little too aggressively.

“Then shut your yap,” the man said.

“Oye, would you siddown already? Jesus Christ,” Louis said.

The man walked up to him with steam coming out of his ears.

“Don’tchu fuckin talk to me like that, ya little shit.”

“I’m not scared of you.”

“Oh yeah? Ya should be. A little fairy like you ain’t got any business walking around starting trouble.”

Louis’ body went cold.

“What?”

“You heard me.”

“What the fuck did you just say to me?” Louis barks back, standing up to be face to face with him.

“Get your fairy ass outta here, pal!” The man yells. 

“Hey!” The bartender yells over the two of them. He jumps over the bar and pushes them away from each other. He’s a small guy but he’s strong. This probably ain’t his first rodeo.

“Fight outside. I don’t give a rat’s ass if you beat the shit out of each other, but do it outside, willya?” 

Louis is fuming but he takes his eyes off the man and looks to the bartender. 

“Can I have my fucking money?”

The bartender dumps a handful of nickels on the bar.

“Now get the hell outta here.”

Louis grabs the money and pushes through the two men. He gets out onto the street with his pulse racing. He doesn’t know what to do, so he just takes off running. He runs down the street past the phone booth and keeps going. He doesn’t know where to go.

He stops at the Maroon Room, a little club next to a whore house, and does five shots. He doesn’t even sit down. He just orders the drinks and downs them quick. All he can think about is the look on Harry’s face when he tried to drink this shit. He couldn’t do it. He’s too sweet for it. 

“Fuck!” He screamed after he finished off the last one. No one even stops to look at him. He leaves the Maroon Room and takes off running again. He gets closer to the Upper West Side before he settles on a booth.

He puts his nickels in the machine and dials a number he forgot that he knew.  

It rings and rings and rings and rings, until a familiar voice answers.

“Aye?”

“Mr. Horan?”

“What?”

“It’s Louis.”

“Huh?”

“Louis. Louis Tomlinson! Come on, you don’t remember me? You don’t remember me, really?”

There’s a shuffling and then a different voice.

“Hello?” 

“Mrs. Horan? Is that you?”

“Who is this?”

“This is Louis! Your son’s very best friend. I wanted to remind you because I think you’ve forgotten.”

“What’s happened? Why are ya callin’?”

“I need to talk to Niall.”

“Niall’s not here. What’s wrong?”

“What’s right, Mrs. Horan, is the real question,” Louis leans his head against the phone booth glass.

“Why the hell are you calling here, boy?” Her accent got thicker when she was upset. He always liked her. She gives it to you straight. It hurts your feelings when it’s an ugly truth, but when she treats you nice, it’s the best. “It’s in the middle of the night.”

“Where’s Niall. I need to talk to him immediately.”

“He’s away in Texas.”

“What the hells he doin’ in Texas?”

“He’s away with the army.”

“Why the hell would he join the army?”

“I’m to go to bed, Louis. It’s three o’clock and I’ve got to work in the marnin'.”

“Boy, I thought you’d get a kick out of hearing from me, I gotta tell ya.”

“Why’d you think a thing like that?”

“I’m your son’s best friend and you haven’t heard from me in a while, that’s all I meant.”

“Been many years. Five years, innit?”

“Five years? No…” Louis’ voice faded the deeper he got in thought. 

“I have to sleep now.”

“Wait, wait! Gimme Niall’s number, won’t you?”

“Don’t call my son in your drunken state.”

“He’s my best friend, he wouldn’t mind. He won’t mind one bit. He would love to hear from me, I’m his best friend.”

“Have ya been hit in the head or summit? What are ya talkin’ about?”

“Mrs. Horan, I like you a lot. You know, I think you’re terrific. But I don’t have time for this right now. Would you give me his telephone number please.”

She grumbled something and gave it to him.

“Thank you very much. Let’s get tea while I’m in town.”

She hung up.

“Very well,” he said and hung up. He dials Niall’s Texas (Texas, for God’s sake) phone number. He doesn’t answer at first. He doesn’t answer for a while, but when Louis was down to the last of his change, a man answered the phone.

“Hello?” The phone had woken this guy up.

“I need to talk to Niall Horan, it’s an emergency.”

There was a shuffling and then he heard in the distance, the man yell, “Horan!”

There’s a few quiet minutes and then more shuffling.

“What?” He answers with.

“Hiya, sunshine!”

“Who is this?” His accent isn’t the same anymore. He suddenly feels very sad hearing his voice. A sadness, he’d never felt before.

“It’s Louis.”

“Who?” The line wasn’t great.

“Louis Tomlinson.”

“Tomlinson? Louis, is that you?”

“Yes.”

“What the hell? What the hell are ya ringin’ me for?”

“I just wanted to talk with you that’s all.”

“Why?”

“Hey, what the fuck are you doing in Texas?”

“The army.”

“Why? Why’d you join the army? What’d you do a thing like that for?”

“I stayed in when I got back.”

“When you got back? Are you flexing your elusive muscles? Got back from where?”

“Go home, for Christ’s sake. What are ya callin me for?”

“I want to talk to my old friend. We were best friends.”

“You’re drunk, go home.” He sounds tired.

“Where’d you get back from?”

“France.” He sounds annoyed now. Louis’ stomach swirled sadly.

“Why were you in France?” Louis sounds like a small boy.

“The fuckin’ war.” He’s angry now.

“You were over there?” Louis feels terrible. “They got you?”

“What’d ya mean? I’m not dead, Jesus.”

“You were drafted?”

“No, I’m pullin your leg. Yes, I was drafted!”

“Why didn’t you tell me that?”

“Why would I?” 

“Because we were best friends.”

“I haven’t seen you since we were in school, Louis.”

“Has it really been that long? I have so much trouble believing it’s been that long.”

“Go to bed, you’re acting a fool.”

“I really thought we were friends.”

“I’m not sure what you’re wantin’ from me. We were fine friends in school.” The line was full of gaping pauses of static, but Louis got the gist.

“Yeah,” Louis said. “Hey, well, I sure am sorry I called you like this.”

Niall either muttered something or shuffled the phone around, but regardless, Louis couldn’t make out anything.

“Good luck out there,” Louis said. It’s a nothing statement, but what else could he say?

“You alright?”

“Peachy.”

“Louis, are you okay? Whats the reason you called me?”

“Why does everyone need a goddamn reason to do any goddamn thing? I called you because I wanted to talk to you. Jesus. Apparently it’s been five years and I suppose I just wanted to catch up.”

“Why are you drunk?”

“I was out with a friend. Well, he’s not my friend exactly. I hate him. I don’t think you can be friends with someone you hate.”

“Why’d you drink with him if you hate him?”

“Because I hate him so much the only way I can stand him is if I’m drunk.”

“You sound blue.”

“I don’t mean to. Did you know I went to California?”

“Ya forgot to fill me on that one, actually.”

“You’re real cute, you know that,” Louis said snidely. 

“Why’d you go there?”

“Because it’s fucking warm there.”

“That it?”

“I fucking hate New York.”

“No, ya don’t.”

“Yes, in fact, I do.”

“You’re blue. You don’t hate New York.”

“I do. It’s filthy and depressing. I’m looking at a half eaten sandwich with a put out cigarette on it. A dog probably peed on it too. It’s disgusting.”

“You’re in New York?”

“Yeah.”

“What the hell are you doing in New York if ya hate it so damn much?”

“Managing a bratty theater boy.”

“Sounds rough.”

“I wish I could tell you all about it.”

There was a moment of silence.

“I’ve got to get to bed. They hear me up this late, they don’t think it’s all that funny.”

Louis’ heart sank. He hung up the phone.

 

* * *

 

Five years? It feels impossible. Five years. How’d five years go by? Where did those years go? The years he was going on dates with girls he didn’t give a shit about and working a job he didn’t give a shit about while living in a city that he didn’t give a shit about. Five years. Louis wants to cry, but he doesn’t want to cry in New York. California is making him soft, he’s realizing. He fucking hates this city.

He’s drunk. The ground beneath his feet is bending and warping like a melting record. He walked all around Manhattan. Twice. He’s dreading being alone in his room. He started walking aimless and ended up in front of Penn Station. He wanders in and goes to the woman in the ticket booth.

“Hello,” Louis says. The woman gave him a disgusted look.

“Hi.”

“I haven’t been here in a long time.”

“Do you need a ticket?”

“Yes. Yes. I need a ticket home.”

“Where’s that?”

“California,” he said and reached into his pockets. Fuck. There’s no money left.

“Never mind I have no money.”

“Okay.”

“I really just want to go home.”

“I’m sorry,” she said. She didn’t look sorry at all. He let out a breath and smiled sadly at the woman.

“Well, goodnight.”

He could feel her eyes burning holes in the back of his head. He keeps walking.

 

* * *

 

He tries to think back to the last time he saw Niall. Prom night pops up in his mind. It’s not the last time he saw him, he knows that well, it was just a memorable night, that’s all. 

He had brought Gertrude Janney as his date. They had twelfth grade English together. She was a cheerleader with honey blonde hair and big brown eyes. She was a knockout really. She sat caddy-cornered to him and she’d always look at him. It made Louis feel uncomfortable sometimes, but other times it was nice. Louis remembered this one time, the only time, he found himself in the bathroom during his lunch period, with tears silently streaming down his cheeks with a completely hollow feeling in his soul. He didn’t know why he was doing it. He just told himself that he was tired and tried to calm down, but he couldn’t stop crying. He remembered looking up at the small window by the ceiling, blinking away tears and muttering, “Fuck,” over and over again.

He couldn’t be caught crying in the bathroom, so he moved like a mouse out of the bathroom and down the hall, leading him to the backdoor next to the gymnasium. Out the door, he followed the trail down to the baseball diamond. It was a sunny day in April, a month and a half away from his high school graduation and in about two and a half hours, the baseball team would be running out to have practice, but for now, it was just hot grass, hot dirt, and white bases, now dusted brown in some parts, but in other parts, it reflected bright light that blinded you. He kicked loose piles of dirt, creating a cloud of dust, dulling his previously shiny shoes. Stood in center field, he closed his eyes, his long, damp eyelashes grazing his skin, and faced the sky, his cheeks warming from the baking sun. At some point he sat in the grass, grabbing a handful of soft grass. He stayed there for a while. It could’ve been a half hour or three hours, he couldn’t tell. He was having a bad day, that’s all. He was feeling overwhelmingly sad, but not in furiously, passionately heartbroken kind of way, but in the quietly hopeless kind of way. He looked around and there wasn’t a soul near. It was very quiet, save for the sound of wind brushing around the leaves in the handful of trees bordering the baseball field. It was so peaceful. His heart felt heavy, but cozy in the isolation. He wanted to just fly away right then and there. He wanted it to be a calm, quiet affair. He didn’t want his sisters and parents to make a fuss over it, he didn’t want them to be sad, he wanted (and yes, he’s aware that he could be quite dramatic), he wanted them to have sensed that he was sad and didn’t think he’d do well in the world, so after he didn’t come home and the school didn’t know where he went, he wanted his parents to know he had flown away up to the sky then off into space, and be okay with it. He wanted them to nod and know that this is what he wanted and be okay with it. But they never would be.

He got up and walked slowly back to the building. He savored every step, taking in deep lungful breaths of fresh air. He lazily dusted off the back of his pants before walking in. He went to the main hallway of the school and stopped a woman, teacher-looking woman, and said, “Hey, you got the time on you?” 

She looked at him with a put-off look and then said with a gross New Jersey accent, “Tomlinson?” Oh shit. Mrs. Hadder, his freshman Algebra teacher, of course.

“Hi,” he said, straining his hot-from-the-sun cheeks into a smile. “Hi, Mrs. Hadder.”

“What’s goin’ on? What are you doing?”

“I’m… walking down the hallway,” he responded, hesitating with fear that it was a trick question.

“Why aren’t you in class?”

“I’m back from a doctor’s appointment,” he said trying to be cool, but he was never good at that. She nodded, looking at him suspiciously. 

“What period is it?” He asked, pretending like he didn’t notice her apprehension.

“Fifth,” she said cooly.

“Thank you,” he said moving around her, and walking down the hall.

“Mr. Tomlinson,” she called back to him. He turned around.

“You okay?” She asked.  
“Yes,” he said quickly. 

“You sure?”

“Yes,” he said. It made him sad saying it.

“Okay,” she said, looking like she knew something he didn’t know she knew.

He nodded and walked to his English class. He slipped in the back of the dark room and sat at his desk. The class was watching some blurry silent film so he could easily sneak in unnoticed with the clinky piano music playing and all eyes on the small screen. But it wasn’t so.

“Mr. Tomlinson,” Mrs. Monogham, said, her finger gesturing for him to come hither. A Red Sox fan, he didn’t care much for her. He went over to her and she waved for him to lean forward.

“Where were you?” She whispered loudly.

“Dentist appointment,” he replied, quieter than her.

“Oh, okay,” she nodded profusely.

He walked back to his desk and noticed Gertrude’s eyes following him. He didn’t care.

He sat down and immediately put his head on his desk, facing the wall. The desk was cool against his hot arms folded under his left cheek.

“Psst,” Gertrude hissed with no response.

“Louis,” she whispered like Mrs. Monogham. He rolled his eyes and flopped his head over the way.

“You got a bunch of dirt on your trousers,” she said. He looked at her and didn’t say anything.

“Were you outside?”

“Yeah.”

“What for?”

“I fell.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah,” he said. He didn’t really answer her question but she took it, so whatever. He smiled then turned his head back. He closed his eyes for the rest of class. When the class ended, he walked out the door, feeling a hand on his wrist when he was in the hall. He turned around and saw Gertrude looking at him with big eyes and dry lips, owner of the hand on his wrist. 

“What are you doing?” He asked.

“Can you walk me to my locker?” She asked.

“What for?”

“Would ya, Please?” He nodded, her hand still holding onto him.  She guided them out of the swarm of people and moved her hand down and laced her fingers between his.

“What are you doing?” He didn’t sound put off, just tired and confused.

“You don’t want me to hold your hand?” She asked. 

No, he didn’t want to hold her hand. Little did she know, that was the whole problem. She probably didn’t know there was a problem at all.

“I don’t mind,” he said. She guided them to her locker and, when they stopped, she leaned against her locker.

“I got a question for ya,” she said, looking at him with a sort of bluntness. Thats how she was. She was very honest and transparent, and she was pretty so no one seemed to be bothered by it.

“Okay.”

“Can you take me to prom?” She asked. She didn’t look nervous at all. That was Gertrude. It didn’t feel like a big moment at all with her. He thought, to hell with it, then said, “Sure.”

She smiled real nice. Nothing coy or foxy about it. She smiled and said, “Great.” She squeezed his hand, then let go to open her locker and grab her book bag. “It’s next Saturday, you got my address?” Her voice sounded as immature as it did when she was fourteen. It wasn’t a bad immature, she wasn’t caddy or dumb. Just sort of innocent and unfazed. 

He nodded. She slung her book bag over her shoulder and smiled at him. Her long blonde hair was naturally straight and shiny, and while she didn’t do anything with it, it was real pretty. She just had this real cute face with her pink cheeks and freckled nose. She looked soft. He remembered playing at recess with her when they were in elementary school. She looked soft then too. Just like a daydream.

“Listen, if the girls ask, don’t tell ‘em I asked you, alright?” She said breezy. “I’m not embarrassed of you or anything, I just don’t wanna have them bothering me about it.”

“Yeah, okay,” Louis said. He believed her reasoning. There was no reason not to. 

“Thanks, doll,” she said, then grabbed his shoulder and kissed his cheek.

“Bye, Louis,” she said and skirted away. He watched her go, then turned around and went home. 

He remembers driving to the prom in Niall’s father’s car, all four of them, with Niall and his date in the front, crammed into that tiny car and all of them happy as dopes. Niall was mocking the Yankees announcer and doing this real long bit that lasted them the whole way to the school, they laughed the whole while. Gertrude’s dress had a really full skirt and it took up a lot of room in the, already small, backseat. It was a tight fit. But Niall was hilarious and brought Louis a flask because he knew that Louis “was nervous as hell doing shit like this,” Niall’s words. Louis was tipsy and leaned forward with his head next to Niall’s right shoulder, Gertrude’s chin resting on Louis shoulder. Niall did his bit and Louis laughed so sweetly and honestly. He just looked gorgeous that whole night, and Niall, never breaking character and never taking his eyes off the road, giving loving slaps every now and again to Louis’ cheek. Louis melted and Niall smelled nice. He remembers sticking by Niall and his date’s side all night long. He doesn’t remember Gertrude to well from that night, but it was fun for all of them, he was sure. 

But, as previously stated, he knows that he has seen Niall many times since prom night. Hell, he remembers seeing the Dodgers with Niall in July after they graduated. So it hasn’t been since school. He got his job at the jewelry store in August. He worked all day and went to bed as soon as he went home. There wasn’t time enough for him to do much else. He went to dance clubs with Niall most Fridays. Niall usually brought a date, Louis always said that he wanted to meet someone when they got there. The mafia club that Louis took Harry to was one that Niall and him had gone to once, when Niall was dating a Columbia girl. Niall went to Fordham. It was a nice night. The girl dressed like she was out of one of the French films. She was a cute little thing in a short skirt and beret. Niall was sweet on her for a while. It made Louis blue, as Niall would say. Louis was starting to feel a hopelessness that wasn’t fleeting the way it used to be when it would come and go. It was getting sad in his world, so he picked up more hours at the store and then he woke up one day and decided to move to California. What happened in between? Last thing he remembers is: Niall is his best friend and life is sad, but somehow, life went into autopilot and he was sort of brain-dead for several years. He and Niall sort of faded out without him ever realizing it. Niall got a call from Uncle Sam telling him to go fight in the goddamn war. Holy shit. Why wouldn’t Niall have called to tell him that? No matter how long it had been, he should’ve told Louis. Even if it was just a formality, he should have told him. They were best friends all their lives. He should have told him about it.

But then again, Louis moved to the other side of the country and didn’t ever think to call Niall. It felt different somehow.

He kicks a can down the street with a broken heart. He passes his old church. He doesn’t miss it. He doesn’t miss it, but he remembers it fondly. Not the awkward confessions or the endless Latin sermons, he missed the windows. He missed the angels. He missed the handsome saints. Those saints loved him, he thought. He misses them.

He misses Harry. He wishes that Harry were an angel. An angel that only Louis could see. An angel that could take him to Heaven and kiss him with no qualms. He wants Harry to drape himself over Louis. He wants to touch the curves and lines of his soft thighs and his hips and his ribcage. He wants to gently kiss him for hours. He wants to be close to him. He wants to be intertwined with him. Fucking Harry.

He walks around until the sun comes up and his head is spinning from exhaustion and alcohol. He surrenders, returning to the hotel. He fell asleep the minute he hit the pillow

This was the worst night of his life.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sort of an isolated chapter in a way. I wrote it in the present tense to create a more intimate tone for Louis and his 'worst night.' Thanks for reading!  
> Let me know what you think!!


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